GIFT  OF 
JEROME  B.  LANDFIEJLD 


WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN 
RUSSIA 


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WHEN    I    WAS    A  BOY    IN    CHINA 
By  Yan  Phou  Lee 

WHEN    I    WAS    A    GIRL    IN    ITALY 
By  Marietta  Ambrosi 

WHEN    I    WAS    A    BOY    IN    JAPAN 
By  Sakae  Shioya 

WHEN  I  WAS  A   BOY   IN    GREECE 
By  George  Demetrios 

WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  PALESTINE 
By  Mousa  J.  Kaleel 

WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  BELGIUM 
By  Robert  Jonckheere 

LOTHROP,   LEE  &   SHEPARD   CO. 
BOSTON 


VLADIMIR  DK  BOGORY  MOKRIEVITCH. 


WHEN   I  WAS  A  BOY 
IN  RUSSIA 


BY 


VLADIMIR   DE    BOGORY  MOKRIEVITCH 


ILL  US  TRA  TED  FR  OM  PHO  TO  GRAPHS 


BOSTON 
LOTHROP,    LEE   &   SHEPARD    CO. 


*k 


'^'O;^     Published,  March,  1916 


Copyright,  1916, 
BY  LOTHROP,  LEE  &  SHEPARD  Co. 


All  Rights  Reserved 


When  I  Was  a  Boy  in  Russia 


press 

BERWICK  &  SMITH  CO. 

NORWOOD,  MASS. 

U.  s.  A. 


PUBLISHERS'  PREFACE 

THROUGH  the  kind  offices  of  the 
author's  talented  daughter,  Natalie  De 
Bogory,  of  New  York,  we  are  able  to 
acquaint  American  children  with  child- 
life  in  Russia,  and  at  the  same  time  show 
the  spirit  of  this  mighty  empire  by 
means  of  the  story  of  Vladimir  De 
Bogory  Mokrievitch  as  told  by  himself. 

The  life  of  this  noted  man,  who  gave 
up  the  privileges  of  noble  birth  in  order 
to  serve  his  fellow  men,  is  well  calculated 
to  stir  to  enthusiasm  the  admiration  of 
American  youth. 

The  author's  life  in  America,  as  well 
as  his  broad  interest  in  freedom  every- 
where, renders  him  particularly  well 
fitted  to  tell  us  of  the  tyranny  of  Russian 
schools  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century, 
the  freeing  of  the  serfs,  the  uprising  for 
5 


6  PUBLISHEBS*  PEEFAGE 

liberty  among  the  university  students, 
and  finally  of  Siberia,  in  order  that  we 
may  see  how  other  nations  than  ours 
have  struggled  up  the  bitter  path  to 
liberty. 

LOTHROP,  LEE  &  SHEPARD  Co. 
Boston,  February  22, 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE    BATTLES    OF    THE    CHERRY 

ORCHARD       .        .        .        .11 

II.  FAIRIED  WINTER  IN  THE  UKRAINE  .  29 

III.  THE  WITCH-EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN         .  47 

IV.  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  SCHOOL  TYRANT  65 
V.  SETTING  THE  SLAVES  FREE     .        .  84 

VI.    CHOOSING  A  CAREER       ...      98 

VII.    THE  THUNDERBOLT  OF  TERRORISM  .     118 

VIII.    MY  ESCAPE  FROM  SIBERIA      .        .151 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Vladimir  De  Bogory  Mokrievitch         .     Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

Some  Russian  Children  .         .         .  14 

Troika 34 

Freight  Sledge 34 

Old  Russian  Moujik,  or  Peasant      ...  44 

Batiushka 52 

" Holy  Russia'1 64 

A  Peasant  Village 80 

Boys  will  be  Boys 88 

General  View  of  Tolstoi's  Home      .         .         .  102 

Curfew  in  a  Russian  Village  near  the  City  of  Kiev  1 28 

Polu-Etape 156 

Krasnoyarsk  Prison 156 

Kergez  Children  at  Play          .        .        .        .166 


9 


WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY 
IN  RUSSIA 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   BATTLES   OF   THE   CHERRY  ORCHARD 

I  HAD  more  play,  when  I  was  a  little 
boy  in  Russia,  than  most  American  boys 
have,  and  my  play  was  altogether  differ- 
ent. I  didn't  go  to  school  until  I  was 
ten  years  old,  and  until  that  day  of  won- 
der— the  first  day  at  school — I  studied  at 
home  and  played  all  over  our  estates. 

My  father  was  a  Colonel  of  Hussars  in 
one  of  the  Tsar's  regiments,  and  he  was 
so  fond  of  horses  that  even  after  he  had 
retired  from  active  duty  in  the  army, 
our  stables  were  never  empty  of  the  fleet 
Arabian  steeds  he  loved  so  well. 
11 


12      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

"  I  can't  imagine  home  without  horses," 
he  said  one  day  to  Mother,  when  she  sug- 
gested that  he  reduce  their  numbers,  and 
his  stern  face,  with  its  long,  flowing 
beard,  softened  as  he  thought  of  his 
stable  favorites. 

Father  was  a  noble,  of  course,  for  in 
that  time  no  one  could  be  an  officer  in 
the  Russian  army  unless  he  belonged  to 
the  nobility.  He  also  came  of  warrior 
stock,  and  as  far  back  as  Russian  records 
go  (and  they  are  very  old)  there  was 
always  one  of  my  ancestors  an  officer  in 
the  army.  As  I  remember  Father,  he  was 
already  grey ;  he  had  a  stern  face,  with 
strong  lines  on  each  side  of  the  mouth ; 
his  soft  white  hair  was  long  and  his 
flowing  white  beard  reached  halfway 
down  to  his  waist.  In  public  he  wore  a 
gorgeous  uniform  consisting  of  a  brilliant 
blue  tunic,  so  heavily  braided  with  gold 
across  the  chest  that  it  shone  like  a 
cuirass,  red  riding-breeches  and  black, 
Russian  leather  boots,  reaching  just  be- 


BATTLES  OF  THE  OEGHAED    13 

low  his  knee.  In  the  house  Father  wore 
civilian  dress,  but  both  when  he  went 
out  and  when  people  came  to  see  him,  he 
always  wore  the  dashing  Hussar  uniform. 
He  never  smiled  or  laughed,  and  my 
daughter  is  always  telling  me  that  I,  too, 
seldom  smile  and  never  laugh. 

"  Pahpa,"  I  said  one  day,  climbing  on 
his  knees,  "  if  I  tickle  you,  won't  you 
laugh  ? "  whereupon  I  tickled  him,  and 
his  brown  eyes  lit  up  with  humorous 
twinkles  and  sparks  almost  flew  from 
them.  But  his  mouth  remained  stern 
and  set,  although,  like  all  Little  Rus- 
sians, he  loved  fun  and  jokes. 

There  were  five  of  us  children.  Piotr 
was  the  eldest ;  then  Ivan,  than  whom  I, 
Vladimir,  was  two  years  younger ;  my 
sister  Aniuta ;  and  another  sister,  who 
was  still  younger.  In  the  evenings 
Father  often  told  us  stories  of  the  Rus- 
sian wars,  in  which  the  nobles  of  Lit- 
tle Russia  and  of  the  Cossack  country 
near  by  had  always  participated.  I  often 


14      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

heard  the  tales  of  the  cavalry  charges  of 
the  Hussars  and  of  the  Cossacks.  We 
boys  were  so  familiar  with  the  Crimean 
War  that  we  often  enacted  in  our  play  the 
campaigns  Father  had  described  so  graph- 
ically, and  he  taught  us  that  to  be  men 
we  had  to  be  brave  and  stoical. 

As  I  remember  Father,  he  was  actively 
engaged  in  the  management  of  the  estate, 
which,  though  it  would  not  have  been 
considered  a  large  one  then,  stretched 
over  several  coombes  or  small  hills  of  the 
undulating  country  of  the  Podol  govern- 
ment. 

In  Russia  the  word  "  government "  cor- 
responds to  the  American  word  "  state  "  ; 
the  Podol  government  being  about  the 
size  of  Illinois.  We  had  serfs  on  our  es- 
tates, so  it  was  necessary  to  keep  them  all 
employed,  and  although  they  were  given 
their  freedom  when  I  was  still  at  school, 
I  can  well  remember  the  numerous  fam- 
ilies of  serfs  living  and  working  on  our 
land. 


BATTLES  OF  THE  OEGHAED    15 

My  mother  also  was  a  noblewoman,  and 
like  all  women  of  high  rank  she  had 
great  responsibilities  and  took  her  duties 
as  mistress  of  an  estate  very  seriously.  It 
was  for  her  to  superintend  all  the  work 
of  the  women  serfs :  the  weaving  of  the 
cloth  of  which  our  clothing  was  sewn, 
the  growing  of  the  flax  and  the  preparing 
of  the  linen  fibres,  for  all  our  linen  also 
was  made  on  the  estate. 

I  remember  very  well  that,  according  to 
custom,  although  Mother  had  dozens  of 
domestic  slaves,  the  making  of  jam  was 
never  left  to  them,  but  was  the  special 
concern  of  the  lady  of  the  house.  Mother 
was  very  generous  and  hospitable,  and, 
consequently,  the  amount  of  jam  and 
preserves  that  was  made  in  the  huge  home 
kitchen  was  enormous.  I  always  took 
care  to  know  when  jam  was  being  made, 
and,  together  with  Ivan  and  Piotr,  never 
failed  to  get  my  share  of  the  penka  or 
sweet  skimmings. 

"  Volodia,"  my  mother  used  to  say  re- 


16      WEEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

provingly,  using  the  diminutive  for  my 
name,  "  you'll  turn  into  sugar  if  you  eat 
so  much ! "  Even  this  threat  did  not 
frighten  me  away,  and  I  am  still  just  as 
fond  of  sweet  things,  although  it  is  half  a 
century  since  that  time. 

The  Podol  government  was  famous  for 
the  embroidery  which  was  done  first  by 
the  serfs,  and  now  by  the  peasants.  It 
was  a  part  of  Mother's  duties  to  superin- 
tend the  embroidering  of  both  clothing 
and  household  linens,  which  were  richly 
decorated,  usually  with  black  and  red  or 
blue  embroidery.  Nothing  we  had  was 
machine-made. 

In  addition  to  this  constant  urgency  of 
household  duties,  Mother  entertained 
largely,  and  in  the  Russia  of  that  time 
hospitality  implied  the  invitation  of 
twenty  or  thirty  persons  at  a  time,  most 
of  whom  stayed  for  two  or  three  days, 
sometimes  for  weeks,  and  all  of  whom 
generally  remained  over  night.  During 
the  shooting  season  our  neighbors  came 


BATTLES  OF  THE  ORCHARD    17 

to  shoot  over  our  preserves,  and  Father 
would  visit  other  estates.  Hospitality 
was  profuse  all  over  the  country,  for  the 
estates  of  the  nobles  were  large  and  far 
apart  and  they  had  no  one  but  themselves 
with  whom  to  associate. 

In  those  days — that  was  sixty  years  ago 
— the  houses  of  the  nobles  carried  out  the 
patriarchal  life  of  early  Russia.  Our 
house,  like  most  of  them,  was  only  one 
story  high,  but  it  covered  a  large  area, 
spreading  itself  out  in  the  shape  of  a 
hook,  containing  many  rooms, — how 
many  I  do  not  remember.  The  rooms 
were  large,  with  stained  floors,  and  they 
were  heated  by  Russian  stoves  which  were 
built  into  the  house,  and  in  which  we 
burned  the  wood  cut  from  the  forests  on 
the  estate.  Although  the  Podol  govern- 
ment is  in  Little  Russia,  or  toward  the 
southwest  corner  of  the  great  Russian  em- 
pire, in  winter  it  was  so  cold  that  double 
windows  were  put  in,  and  the  stoves  never 
went  out.  The  roofs  were  low  and 


18      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

thatched,  for,  in  those  days,  the  modern 
use  of  tiles  and  slates  was  unknown. 

The  house  was  surrounded  by  chestnut 
trees  and  stood  at  the  end  of  a  huge  court- 
yard, all  sides  of  which  were  built  up. 
Here,  on  either  hand,  were  the  dairies,  the 
barns,  the  stables  and  little  house  of  the 
foreman,  who  acted  as  manager  of  the 
estate.  Just  inside  the  gate,  which  was 
guarded  by  two  huge  weeping-willows, 
which  I  often  climbed,  and  a  giant  poplar, 
which  I  was  never  able  to  climb,  stood 
the  well.  To  this  the  peasants  came  for 
their  water  every  evening,  and  thus  the 
courtyard  in  front  of  the  "  great  house  " 
became  the  general  gathering-ground  of 
the  serfs.  The  courtyard  was  always  full 
of  bustle  and  excitement,  and  so  the  weary 
leagues  of  land  that  stretched  around  us 
never  gave  the  sense  of  loneliness  that  is 
found  in  the  American  prairies. 

The  whole  estate  was  my  playground, 
but  my  brothers  and  I  played  mostly  in 
the  orchard,  which  surrounded  the  house 


BATTLES  OF  THE  ORCHARD    19 

on  all  sides  except  the  one  facing  the 
yard.  We  had  almost  every  kind  of  fruit, 
and  I  remember  especially  the  cherry- 
trees,  which  were  very  old  and  very  big, 
with  masses  of  cherries.  When  they 
were  ripe,  Father  used  to  call  in  the  fore- 
man, Gavrilo,  and  say  to  him  : 

"Tell  everybody  that  they  can  go  to 
the  orchard  with  pails  and  get  all  the 
cherries  they  want." 

"  Yes,  Barrin  "  (Master),  Gavrilo  would 
reply,  "  the  cherries  are  very  abundant 
this  year." 

The  serfs  then  spent  what  time  they 
had  to  spare  in  shaking  down  the  cherries 
from  the  trees,  or  we  boys  would  climb 
the  branches  and  shake  for  the  mere  fun 
of  sending  down  showers  of  juicy  fruit  on 
the  heads  of  the  devchata  or  peasant  girls. 
For  weeks  we  lived  on  cherries,  and  when 
everybody  had  as  many  as  they  could 
preserve,  the  pigs  were  allowed  to  eat  the 
remainder.  Mother  spent  her  days  dur- 
ing the  cherry  season  in  preserving,  and 


20      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

as  the  jars  were  put  on  the  shelves  of  our 
large  cool  cellar,  Ivan  and  I  would  creep 
around  to  see  where  they  were  being 
stored. 

"  They're  in  that  corner  where  Pahpa 
kept  the  bees  last  winter,"  Ivan  would 
whisper.  It  was  essential  for  us  to  know 
the  location  of  the  desired  crocks,  in  order 
that  the  raids  we  contemplated  on  them 
might  be  successful. 

Father  never  allowed  the  weeds  and 
undergrowth  in  the  orchard  to  be  cut,  and 
every  year  he  had  to  defend  his  prefer- 
ence from  Mother's  attacks. 

"  The  weeds  look  so  untidy  from  the 
house,  Pahpa/7  Mother  would  say  with 
gentle  reproach. 

"  They  don't  look  particularly  well," 
Father  acquiesced,  "  but  you  know  that 
the  best  honey  comes  from  the  wild 
flowers.  If  we  cut  them,  we  won't  have 
either  the  quantity  or  the  same  aromatic 
honey.  .  .  ."  Father  always  won  his 
point,  for  Mother  knew  that  he  loved  his 


BATTLES  OF  THE  ORCHARD    21 

bees,  and  that,  next  to  his  horses,  he  prized 
his  numerous  hives. 

So  the  weeds  were  allowed  to  grow,  till 
they  stood  above  our  heads,  and  Piotr, 
Ivan  and  I  used  to  have  exploring  and 
rescue  parties  in  the  orchard,  pretending 
that  it  was  a  jungle.  I  can  recall  that 
the  gooseberry  bushes  were  so  high  that 
we  used  to  hide  under  them  and  not  be 
seen  at  all.  Raspberries,  which  grow 
freely  in  Russia,  we  also  had  in  abun- 
dance. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  estate  were 
many  elms,  not  large  and  spreading  like 
the  American  trees,  but  the  slighter  witch- 
elms.  The  boughs  of  these  trees  were  so 
elastic  and  springy  that  when  we  climbed 
on  them  they  bent  and  swayed  like  giant 
fishing  rods.  Ivan  and  I  were  particu- 
larly fond  of  climbing  them. 

"  Vania,"  I  shouted  to  Ivan,  using  his 
pet  name,  as  I  swung  wildly  in  the  air, 
"  watch  me — I'm  a  monkey  !  "  As  the 
bough  sprang  upwards  elastically,  I  let 


22      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

go,  and  the  spring  carried  me  to  the  next 
elm,  where  I  caught  another  bough,  and 
so  we  traveled  through  the  wood,  mak- 
ing believe  it  was  the  forest  primeval. 

When  we  tired  playing  "  monkeys," 
there  was  the  little  lake  beyond  the 
orchard. 

"Til  get  there  first,  Volodia!"  Ivan 
would  cry  as  he  ran,  rapidly  unfasten- 
ing the  only  two  garments  he  wore : 
an  embroidered  linen  shirt  and  linen 
trousers. 

"  No  you  won't,"  I  would  pant  behind 
him,  struggling  with  the  buttons  ;  but  he 
was  two  years  older,  so  I  rarely  was  able 
to  beat  him.  By  the  time  we  reached  the 
pond,  which  was  not  far  from  the  house, 
both  were  undressed  and  with  a  wild  cry 
we  leaped  into  the  warm,  clear  water. 
We  spent  a  great  deal  of  our  time  on  this 
lake  bathing  and  swimming,  or  watching 
the  water,  hanging  from  the  boughs  of  a 
weeping-willow  tree,  which  drooped  so 
that  its  twigs  touched  the  surface  of  the 


BATTLES  OF  THE  OECHAED    23 

pond.  One  end  was  covered  with  a  water 
plant  and  looked  like  a  lawn.  There  I 
often  saw  birds  settle,  and  it  was  only 
when  their  feet  sank  and  they  felt  the 
water  below  that  they  rose  hastily  with  a 
little  frightened  chirp. 

Wonderful  journeys  we  boys  made  over 
that  lake.  Often  we  were  shipwrecked 
mariners,  stretched  out  helplessly  on  the 
raft,  which  was  one  of  the  lake's  chief 
attractions  to  us,  or  sometimes  we  lay  flat 
on  it,  heads  over  the  edge,  watching  the 
tench  swimming  in  the  clear  water. 
Some  of  them  were  nearly  a  foot  long. 
There  was  a  fascination  about  the  teem- 
ing life  at  the  bottom,  midst  the  feather- 
like  water-weeds.  On  warm  sunny  days 
the  weeping-willow  was  reflected  in  the 
brilliant  waters,  and  for  many  years  I 
wondered  why  the  tree  was  there,  upside 
down. 

"  Is  it  another  tree?  "  I  asked  Ivan,  as 
we  basked  on  the  raft,  very  still,  so  as  not 
to  disturb  the  image. 


24      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

"  No,"  said  Ivan,  "  it's  the  spirit  of  the 
tree.7' 

Mother  taught  us  to  read  very  early, 
and  we  read  a  great  deal.  There  are  very 
few  boys'  books  written  by  Russians,  but 
all  the  great  historical  writers  are  in  trans- 
lation. "  The  Three  Musketeers  "  by  Du- 
mas was  an  especial  favorite,  and  since 
there  were  three  of  us  boys,  we  enacted 
anew,  over  and  over  again,  the  adventures 
of  d'Artagnan,  Porthos,  and  Aramis.  I 
was  always  the  quick-witted  d'Artagnan, 
resourceful  and  intrepid ;  Ivan,  with  his 
dreamy,  idealistic  nature,  played  the  part 
of  Aramis,  the  true  gentleman,  and  the 
more  gross  part  of  Porthos  fitted  Piotr. 
We  were  all  satisfied  with  our  parts,  and 
never  changed  them. 

One  day,  I  remember,  it  was  very  sunny 
and  the  air  was  particularly  exhilarating. 
We  laid  out  the  plan  of  a  battle  royal,  and 
our  enemies  were  the  honey-giving  weeds 
in  the  orchard.  With  wooden  swords  we 
attacked  our  numerous  "  enemies,"  snip- 


BAITLES  OF  THE  OEGHAED    25 

ping  off  their  heads  with  dexterous  blows. 
The  "foe"  made  no  resistance,  so  we 
mowed  our  way  through  with  shouts  of 
triumph,  leaving  a  trail  of  ruth  behind. 
We  did  not  notice  how  the  character  of 
our  "  enemy  "  changed,  and  we  found  our- 
selves mowing  down  the  tall  corn,  a  field 
of  which  was  planted  beyond  the  weeds. 
The  "  enemy "  lay  dead  around  us  in 
•hundreds,  and  when  enough  of  the  corn 
was  trampled,  flushed  with  victory,  we 
started  off  for  a  cool  dip  in  the  lake. 

That  evening,  at  supper,  Father  said  to 
Mother,  looking  sternly  at  us  boys  the 
while  : 

11  The  cows  must  have  got  into  the  corn 
field  this  afternoon,  Mamoussia  (little 
mother) ;  they  must  be  more  carefully 
herded,  for  they  trampled  down  a  great 
deal  of  the  corn." 

We  took  the  hint.  It  was  generally 
wise  to  pay  heed  when  Father  spoke,  for 
though  kind,  he  was  an  army  officer  and 
knew  exactly  what  discipline  meant 


26      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

Mother  always  protected  us,  but  it  was 
not  possible  to  cover  all  our  misdeeds. 

Of  course  we  learned  to  ride  horseback 
soon  after  we  could  walk,  and  except  for 
several  of  the  horses  that  were  reserved 
for  Father,  we  had  the  run  of  the  stables. 
We  generally  rode  barebacked  and  at  a 
wild  gallop  along  the  dusty  roads,  any 
peasants  that  might  happen  to  be  near, 
scattering  at  the  thud  of  the  flying  hoofs. 

On  one  occasion — I  wasn't  going  to 
school  yet — a  bull  that  had  got  away 
from  the  herd  stopped  to  watch  us  as  we 
whirled  by. 

11  Looks  ugly  !  "  shouted  Piotr. 

His  warning  was  too  late.  The  bull, 
having  decided  that  I  was  the  most  ob- 
jectionable of  the  party,  started  after  me 
with  his  wicked  little  eyes  shining,  his 
horns  low  and  his  tail  straight  out  in 
the  air.  My  horse,  maddened  with  fear, 
turned  toward  home,  over  the  fields 
and  through  the  woods.  I  was  nearly 
swept  off  his  back  several  times  by  low- 


BATTLES  OF  THE  ORCHARD    27 

hung  branches  and  my  face  and  hands 
were  scratched  with  the  brambles  and 
briers  that  switched  across  me  as  we  tore 
through  the  underbrush.  Fortunately 
the  gate  into  the  courtyard  of  the  house 
was  open  and  the  horse  rushed  through 
it,  heading  straight  for  the  stable,  the 
angry  bull  only  a  few  feet  behind. 
Without  stopping,  my  Arab  galloped 
full  speed  toward  the  low  door,  giving 
me  hardly  any  opportunity  to  realize  my 
danger. 

"Jump— jump — on  the  roof!"  came 
shouts  from  the  men  working  in  the 
courtyard. 

No  one  moved. 

Instinctively  I  rose  on  my  knees,  half 
crouching  on  the  horse's  back,  and  jerked 
myself  upwards  just  as  he  reached  the 
door.  The  force  with  which  I  was  rid- 
ing threw  me  up  on  the  low-pitched 
stable  roof,  up  which  I  rolled  and  down 
on  the  other  side,  falling  safely  on  the 
soft  weeds  beyond.  The  straw  of  the 


28J    WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  ZUSSIA 

thatched  roof  scratched  me  a  good  deal, 
and  I  was  bleeding  from  the  cuts  and 
bruises. 

A  moment  later  Piotr  came  riding  up 
and  j  umped  off  his  horse. 

"  I'm  all  right,"  I  said,  breathing  heav- 
ily, but  getting  up  and  trying  to  look  un- 
concerned. 

"  That  ride/'  said  Piotr,  in  his  grave, 
judicial  way,  "  was  just  like  d'Artagnan's 
escape  from  the  ruffian  spies.  I  salute 
you ! " 


CHAPTER  II 

FAIRIED   WINTER   IN   THE  UKRAINE 

WITH  the  first  flurry  of  snowflakes,  our 
lives  and  habits  changed.  As  the  house 
sank  deeper  and  deeper  in  the  ever-fall- 
ing snow,  our  great  and  persistent  play- 
enemies,  the  weeds  of  the  orchard,  began 
to  disappear,  their  tips  alone  remaining 
as  dark  spots  on  the  white  background. 
Instead  of  bees,  they  now  attracted  birds, 
who  flocked  in  hundreds  to  peck  at  the 
dry  seeds.  Yet  the  bees  were  not  for- 
gotten. 

It  was  always  Ivan  who  suggested  an 
expedition  to  the  cellar. 

"  Volodia."  he  said,  with  just  a  slightly 
shamefaced  look,  "  won't  you  go  down 
with  me  to  listen  to  the  bees  ?  " 

So,  quietly,  with  our  wooden  swords 
still  girded  on  as  a  protection  against 
29 


30      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

the  ever-lurking  enemy,  we  crept  down 
to  the  warm,  dark  cellar,  where  in  a 
corner  the  beehives  stood.  We  needed 
no  light  to  guide  us,  for  the  low  buzzing 
of  the  bees  could  be  plainly  heard,  and 
we  crouched  down  beside  them,  close  to- 
gether. 

"I  wonder  what  they  are  talking 
about  ?"  hazarded  Ivan. 

"They  might  be  telling  each  other 
stories,"  I  answered,  listening  to  the 
soothing  hum,  which  has  always  re- 
tained for  me  its  mysterious  charm. 

"No,"  said  Ivan,  "I  think  they're 
arguing  why  so  many  have  to  work  to 
keep  the  idle  drones." 

But  I  persisted  that  they  only  told 
stories,  and  even  now  I  listen  to  the 
bees  with  the  same  thrill  of  mysterious 
imaginings.  Many  a  time,  after  that, 
Ivan's  childish  interest  in  the  workers 
and  the  drones  recurred  to  me.  It  was 
a  prophecy  of  his  life. 

Our  winter  wars,  always  an  important 


WINTEE  IN  THE  UKEAINE          31 

part  of  our  daily  routine,  were  well  pro- 
vided with  munitions.  I  remember  the 
gigantic  snow  forts  we  built,  for  we  had 
all  winter  in  which  to  build  them,  and 
the  snowball  ammunition  that  was  pre- 
pared for  the  engagements  made  huge 
piles  behind  the  ramparts.  We  naturally 
played  with  certain  boys  of  our  serfs,  but 
in  winter  this  increase  in  numbers  was 
particularly  welcomed.  We  built  great 
snow  men  that  towered  above  us,  and  we 
had  secret  tunnels  in  our  snow  hills  that 
took  a  long  time  to  melt. 

Another  source  of  great  joy  was  skat- 
ing, and  when  lessons  were  over,  we 
would  put  on  our  heavy  fur-edged  coats, 
padded  with  the  wool  of  our  own  sheep, 
and  scamper  off  to  the  lake,  just  as  eager 
to  skate  as  we  had  been  to  swim.  I  re- 
member very  well  the  day  that  I  gradu- 
ated from  the  wooden  skate,  and  first 
learnt  the  joy  of  the  keen,  steel  blade. 
There  was  great  rivalry  between  Ivan 
and  me,  and  although  he  was  older,  I 


32      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

could  beat  him  at  figure-skating.  I  spent 
my  time  writing  my  name  on  the  ice,  of 
course  in  Russian  letters,  and  figure  "8's" 
I  considered  a  simple  feat. 

The  peasant  boys,  or  hloptzi,  always 
fixed  up  a  furrkadlo  or  ice  merry-go- 
round.  A  heavy  wooden  post  was  first 
driven  into  the  ice  in  the  middle  of  the 
lake.  The  hloptzi  then  attached  to  it  a 
thin  pole  about  thirty-six  feet  long,  so 
arranged  that  it  could  swing  freely  round 
and  round  the  pivotal  post.  To  one  end 
of  this  lever  a  small  sled  was  fastened, 
and  the  other  end  was  left  protruding 
about  six  feet  beyond  the  post.  Two 
people  could  get  into  the  sled  and  then 
it  would  be  whirled  around  at  a  terrific 
speed  by  pushing  on  the  shorter  end, 
those  riding  in  the  sled  making  it  go 
even  more  swiftly  by  striking  the  ice 
with  the  foot.  How  we  enjoyed  skim- 
ming like  birds  over  the  smooth,  shining 
ice !  The  roar  of  the  furrJcadlo  could  be 
heard  a  mile  away  on  clear  frosty  days. 


WINTEE  IN  THE  UKRAINE          33 

Although  cold  weather  and  storms  did 
not  keep  us  indoors,  yet  the  winter  days 
were  short,  and  we  played  many  indoor 
games.  We  boys  were  especially  fond  of 
babJd,  or  pig-bones,  a  kind  of  ninepins 
made  from  the  bones  of  a  pig's  leg.  The 
initial  charm  of  the  game  lay  in  the  diffi- 
culty of  getting  the  bones  with  which  to 
play  it.  Every  time  a  pig  was  going  to 
be  killed,  its  bones  had  claimants  long 
before  the  fatal  day.  Clumsy  playing 
meant  the  loss  of  bones.  As  these  could 
not  be  replaced  with  any  degree  of  ease, 
and  either  they  had  to  be  won  back  or 
the  loser  wheedled  them  from  Ksenia 
when  the  next  pig  was  killed,  it  followed 
that  every  game  was  striven  for  in  bitter 
earnest. 

In  the  living-room,  where  we  played 
babkij  we  were  also  allowed  to  spin  tops. 
The  room  was  almost  as  big  as  a  tennis 
court,  so  we  had  plenty  of  room  to  spin 
those  that  were  made  for  us  by  handy 
peasant  boys.  All  the  tops  were  bril- 


34      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

liantly  colored.  One  of  the  boys  among 
the  serfs  had  a  positive  genius  for  making 
them,  and  although  he  showed  me  many 
times  the  simple  process,  I  never  achieved 
his  success. 

Often,  while  we  were  engrossed  in  see- 
ing whose  top  would  spin  the  longest,  a 
faint  sound  of  bells  reached  our  ears. 

"  Pahpa's  got  the  troika,"  I  was  always 
the  first  to  exclaim,  for  my  hearing  was 
very  keen.  "  Let's  get  Mahma  to  ask 
him  if  he'll  take  us  out."  We  knew  that 
Mother  was  our  best  ally,  and  she  would 
often  secure  from  Father  privileges  for 
us  which  our  own  clumsy  methods  some- 
times lost. 

"  Pahpa,"  she  would  say,  going  outside 
the  house  where  the  troika  stood,  "  can 
the  children  go  ?  " 

Father  would  look  at  us  and  our  eager 
faces,  and  then  the  sparks  would  light 
up  his  stern  eyes  as  he  nodded  his  acqui- 
escence. 

Bundled  up  in  our  coats  and  blankets 


TROIKA. 


FREIGHT  SLEDGE, 


WINTEE  IN  THE   UKRAINE          35 

we  climbed  into  the  troika,  or  three 
horse  sled.  Bells  jangled  on  the  arched 
wooden  neck-harness  peculiar  to  Russia. 
The  sled  was  filled  with  straw,  into  which 
we  snuggled.  Lightly  Father  touched 
the  horses,  and  we  were  off!  I  can  still 
remember  the  whistling  of  the  wind  as 
we  flew  over  the  smooth  hard  ground, 
and  I  have  never  seen  such  driving  any- 
where as  in  Russia. 

During  the  long  evenings  we  often 
played  blind-man's-buff,  the  game  of  all 
games  beloved  by  Russian  boys  and  girls. 
We  were  allowed  to  invite  into  the  house 
Timko,  one  of  my  playfellows,  whose 
mother  had  been  my  grandmother's  serf, 
and  in  whom  much  confidence  was  placed. 
Timko  and  we  three  boys  had  grown  up 
together,  for  he  was  only  two  years  older 
than  I,  and  I  always  found  him  a  willing 
companion  in  my  rougher  games.  There 
was  never  any  stiffness  between  us  and 
the  serf  or  peasant  boys,  for  they  knew 
that  we  were  the  baritchi  or  young  mas- 


36      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

ters,  and  that  they  belonged  to  the  vil- 
lage. We  were  allowed  to  make  as  much 
noise  as  we  pleased,  my  mother  only  oc- 
casionally glancing  into  the  huge  room 
when  a  particularly  loud  burst  of  boister- 
ousness  made  her  fear  for  the  safety  of  the 
furniture. 

At  other  times  we  avoided  the  noisy 
games,  and  found  our  own  pleasures  in  a 
quieter  mood.  Ivan  and  I,  who  were  in- 
separable, had  a  secret  between  us.  We 
both  loved  the  kitchen  circle,  and  it  was 
undoubtedly  there  that  were  laid  the 
seeds  of  that  love  for  the  peasants  which 
became  our  ruling  interest  in  later  years. 

The  kitchen  was  a  large,  low  room, 
with  a  great  open  fireplace  and  oven  on 
one  side,  along  a  ledge  of  which  stood 
earthenware  pots.  This  was  Ksenia's 
kingdom.  Here  she  spent  her  days  cook- 
ing for  the  whole  household.  In  her 
homespun  and  brightly  embroidered 
peasant  dress,  she  fitted  there.  Around 
the  walls  of  this  big  kitchen  were  long 


WINTER  IN  THE   UKRAINE          37 

benches  stretching  from  corner  to  corner, 
and  here,  after  the  day's  work,  the 
peasants  came  for  their  supper.  The 
men  took  off  their  heavy  fur  jackets  and 
clumsy  footwear,  and  sat  at  ease,  chatting 
among  themselves.  Some  settled  on  the 
benches,  while  others  sat  on  the  tree- 
stumps,  of  which  several  were  scattered 
around.  Still  others  climbed  on  the  oven 
and  dozed  there  comfortably  till  meal- 
time. This  was  always  the  favorite  spot 
of  the  Russian  peasant,  and  the  lejanka,  as 
it  is  called,  is  the  place  of  honor,  for  there 
it  is  warm,  no  matter  how  cold  the  wind 
outside. 

The  vast  expanse  of  the  room  was 
lighted  by  a  burning  log  stuck  into  a 
clumsy  slab  of  clay,  built  into  the  ledge 
of  the  fireplace,  in  which  two  holes  were 
made  for  logs.  These  were  chopped  off 
from  the  still  burning  logs  and  changed 
when  they  burnt  out.  In  this  semi- 
darkness,  fogged  with  a  slightly  acrid 
smoke,  and  peopled  with  tired  men, 


38      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

Nikola,  the  story-teller,  told  fearful  tales 
of  robbers  and  ghosts  and  dead  people. 
And  as  I  listened  to  these,  the  shivers 
would  creep  down  my  back,  and  Ivan 
and  I  would  press  closer  to  each  other 
and  move  away  from  the  windows  where 
the  cold  moonlight  cast  weird  shadows 
upon  the  snow-covered  weeds  and  the 
bare  branches  of  the  orchard  trees.  The 
wind  swayed  the  ice-covered  branches 
and  made  them  crackle  in  the  quiet  night, 
and  Ivan  would  whisper  to  me  patroniz- 
ingly : 

"  Volodia,  if  you  wake  up  to-night  and 
you're  afraid — you  can  wake  me;  I  won't 
mind." 

The  glow  from  the  fire  and  the  flickers 
from  the  torch  played  over  the  moveless 
and  tired  group,  while  Nikola,  speaking 
the  Ukraine  dialect,  with  its  picturesque 
expressions,  told  the  story  of  the  moujik 
Prokop  and  his  dealings  with  the  Tsar 
Goblin. 

"  Prokop  was  a  very  poor  moujik — so 


WIN  TEE  IN  THE   UKEAINE          39 

poor  that  he  often  had  no  food/'  Nikola 
began,  while  the  assembled  hloptzi  leaned 
forward  eagerly.  "One  morning  as  he 
was  leaving  his  izba  to  work  on  the  fields 
he  could  find  to  eat  only  one  small  crust 
of  bread.  He  took  it,  grateful  that  there 
was  even  that  much.  When  he  had  come 
to  the  field,  had  hitched  his  oxen  and 
made  his  plough  ready,  he  took  off  his 
coat,  wrapped  in  it  the  crust  of  bread  for 
his  midday  meal,  put  the  bundle  under 
a  bush  and  went  to  work. 

"  Now  a  goblin  had  been  sitting  near 
that  bush,  underground,  and  he  saw  the 
moujik  put  away  the  crust.  He  was  an 
under  goblin  and  had  been  sent  from  the 
Dark  World  Underground  to  God's  world 
of  the  sunlight  to  try  to  make  at  least 
one  man  discontented  with  his  lot. 
There  was  only  one  requirement,  and 
that  was  that  he  must  succeed  with  the 
first  man  he  tried,  for  if  he  failed,  he 
would  be  compelled  to  return  to  the  Dark 
World  and  tell  his  failure  to  the  Goblin 


40      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

Tsar,  who  could  then  punish  him.  He 
could  make  him  live  for  a  whole  year  in 
a  hole  under  a  church,  which  is  an  awful 
fate  for  a  goblin." 

Many  of  the  listeners  crossed  them- 
selves, and  there  was  a  silent  pause  while 
one  of  the  moujiks  replaced  the  burnt- 
out  torch  with  a  fresh  one.  The  log 
spluttered  with  a  brighter  gleam,  and 
Nikola  went  on : 

"  Now  the  under  goblin  knew  that 
Prokop  had  only  this  crust  of  bread  to 
eat.  Making  a  face  at  the  moujik,  who 
was  ploughing,  the  goblin  unwrapped  the 
bundle  and  took  the  crust.  Then  he  put 
the  coat  back  under  the  bush.  The  crust 
was  hard,  very  hard  for  a  goblin's  teeth, 
but  the  goblin  had  to  eat  it  because  Pro- 
kop might  say  something  that  had  prayer 
words  in  it,  hoping  that  the  bread  would 
come  back,  and  then  the  goblin  would 
have  to  return  it.  But  if  he  had  eaten 
every  crumb,  he  couldn't  give  it  back,  no 
matter  what  Prokop  said. 


WINTEE  IN  THE  UKRAINE          41 

"  At  last  the  sun  rose  half  way  in  the 
sky  and  Prokop  stopped  to  eat  his  dinner. 
He  went  over  to  his  coat,  unwrapped  it 
and  looked  in  vain  for  the  crust.  The 
goblin  stood  invisible,  expectantly  rub- 
bing his  hands  with  their  long,  sharp 
nails  and  waited  anxiously  for  Prokop  to 
say  some  complaining  and  unholy  words. 

"But  the  monjik  did  not.  After  a  mo- 
ment's silence  as  he  discovered  his  loss  : 

" l  May  my  crust  be  as  welcome  to  him 
who  took  it  as  it  would  have  been  to  me/ 
said  Prokop. 

"  He  walked  to  the  spring,  where  he 
drank  his  fill  of  water  and  returned  to 
work. 

"  The  goblin  stood  dumfounded,  for  all 
his  plans  had  failed.  Hastily  he  returned 
to  the  Dark  World  Underground  and  pre- 
sented himself  to  the  Tsar  Goblin. 

"'Your  Imperial  Majesty,'  he  said 
trembling,  '  I  took  away  his  last  crust 
from  a  moujik,  and  he  only  uttered  a 
kindly  wish  1 ' 


42      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  EUSSIA 

"  The  stern  Monarch  looked  at  the 
cowering  goblin  and  said  : 

" '  I  give  you  three  years  in  which  to 
catch  that  moujik.  If  you  fail  then,  I'll 
make  you  count  the  grains  of  dust  on 
every  cross  in  the  world.  Go  ! ' 

"  Very  sad  and  frightened,  the  goblin 
hurried  away  from  the  Awful  Presence. 
He  changed  himself  into  a  man,  went  to 
Prokop  and  asked  the  moujik  to  hire  him 
during  the  ploughing  season.  Prokop 
was  sorry  for  him,  so  he  told  him  that  he 
could  stay  and  work,  although  he,  too, 
was  a  poor  man. 

"  Prokop,  never  suspecting  that  this 
man  was  a  goblin,  accepted  his  friend- 
ship and  listened  to  his  advice. 

"The  first  year  the  goblin  advised 
Prokop  to  sow  all  his  wheat  on  his  hill- 
side patch  and  none  in  the  valley.  Sure 
enough,  it  was  a  season  of  great  rains, 
and  while  the  crops  of  others  rotted, 
Prokop  was  able  to  gather  so  big  a  har- 
vest that  he  could  not  even  use  all  the 


WINTEE  IN  THE  UKEAINE          43 

wheat,  and  some  was  left.  He  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with  it. 

11  The  next  year  the  goblin  advised 
Prokop  to  sow  his  wheat  in  the  patch 
of  land  that  lay  in  a  swampy  valley. 
There  was  a  drought  that  year.  All  the 
crops  dried  up  and  there  was  famine  and 
suffering,  but  Prokop  had  so  much  wheat 
that  he  could  not  use  it  during  the  winter 
and  he  had  still  a  great  deal  of  grain  left 
over. 

"Then  Prokop  had  too  much  wheat 
and  he  wondered  what  to  do  with  the 
grain. 

"  '  I'll  show  you  how  to  make  vodka/ 
said  the  disguised  goblin,  rubbing  his 
hands  with  glee. 

"  Prokop,  who  knew  nothing  about 
vodka,  or  whiskey,  and  was  quite  un- 
suspecting, was  willing  to  be  shown.  So 
vodka  was  made  of  the  extra  grain,  and 
Prokop  invited  many  moujiks  to  his  izba 
and  offered  them  the  vodka  to  drink. 

"  After  tne  first  glass  the  moujiks  be- 


4A      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

came  suspicious  and  cunning.  They 
showed  signs  of  distrust  and  watched 
each  other  warily.  After  the  second 
glass,  they  became  quarrelsome  like 
wolves  and  snapped  angrily  at  each 
other's  remarks.  Two  of  the  men  be- 
gan to  fight.  And,  as  the  goblin 
watched  them,  he  made  grimaces  of 
delight  and  chuckled  to  himself. 

"After  the  third  glass  of  vodka,  the 
moujiks  became  sullen  and  sleepy.  They 
staggered  out  of  the  izba  and  into  the 
gutters  before  it,  where  they  lay  on  the 
street  like  swine.  The  goblin  watched 
Prokop  as  he  lurched  from  the  izba  and 
fell,  and  he  was  happy.  He  felt  sure 
that  at  last  he  could  return  to  the  Tsar 
Goblin  with  confidence  in  his  future  in 
the  Dark  World  Underground.  So  he 
changed  back  into  his  goblin  shape  and 
appeared  before  the  black  throne. 

" '  Well/  said  the  Goblin  Tsar,  '  what 
have  you  done  to  reinstate  yourself  in 
the  Dark  World  ?  ' 


OLD  RUSSIAN  MOUJIK,  OR  PEASANT. 


WINTER  IN  THE  UKRAINE          45 

"  So  the  goblin  told  of  his  three  years' 
work  and  described  Prokop,  lying  in  the 
gutter,  face  downward. 

"  '  You  must  have  put  the  blood  of  a 
fox  in  the  vodka  to  make  the  moujiks 
cunning/  said  the  Tsar  Goblin,  '  and  the 
blood  of  a  wolf  to  have  made  them  fierce, 
and  the  blood  of  a  swine  to  have  made 
them  act  like  the  swine  that  lie  in  gut- 
ters I ' 

"  *  No,  I  didn't  do  any  of  these  things/ 
said  the  under  goblin.  '  I  didn't  have  to 
do  them,  for  in  every  man  there  is  much 
of  the  animal,  only  it  has  to  be  brought 
out.  As  long  as  Prokop  did  not  have 
enough  to  eat,  he  worked  well  and  lived 
without  discontent,  but  as  soon  as  he  had 
more  than  he  could  eat,  he  learned  to 
make  vodka,  and  that  brought  out  the 
animal  desires  that  were  in  him.' 

"  '  I  don't  see  that  you  have  done  any- 
thing/ said  the  Dark  Emperor ;  '  had  you 
put  the  blood  of  a  fox,  a  wolf  and  a  swine 
in  the  vodka,  you  might  have  claimed 


46      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  EUSSIA 

that  it  was  your  act  which  made  Prokop 
discontented  with  his  lot.  But  now  he 
doesn't  fight  and  lie  in  the  gutter  because 
you  have  made  him  wish  to  be  a  fox,  a 
wolf  and  a  swine,  but  because  the  vodka 
is  stronger  than  he.  You  have  failed/ 
thundered  the  Monarch,  pointing  a 
fearful  finger  at  the  trembling  goblin. 
1  Now  go  and  count  the  grains  of  dust 
on  all  the  crosses  in  the  world.' 

"  He  will  count  them  until  the  Judg- 
ment Day,"  concluded  Nikola,  "  for  are 
we  not  always  erecting  new  crosses  to 
show  God's  love  ?  " 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  WITCH-EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN 

HOLY  RUSSIA  I  The  words  are  the  key- 
note to  every  Russian  life,  and  through 
them,  memories  of  childhood  bring  back 
clearly  some  of  the  most  wonderful  of  all 
my  happy  days.  Holy  Russia !  In  these 
two  words  are  held,  as  in  a  priceless 
casket,  some  of  the  most  subtle  threads  of 
Russian  feeling. 

Other  lands  have  other  ideals,  but  the 
true  Russian, — especially  the  Russian  of 
my  childhood,  responds  most  quickly  by 
the  heart-strings  when  the  deeper  notes  of 
life  are  touched.  Though  many  years 
have  passed  since  the  church  itself  has 
played  any  part  in  my  life,  the  beauty  and 
symbolism  of  the  quaint  forms  and  re- 
ligious customs  linger  with  me  yet,  and  I 
feel  anew  the  mystery  and  the  enthusiasms 

47 


48      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

of  childhood  come  over  me  at  the  two 
words  of  magic — Holy  Russia  I 

The  great  celebration  is  Eastertide,  for 
in  no  country  in  the  world  does  the  Fes- 
tival of  the  Resurrection  take  so  deep  a 
hold  on  the  life  of  the  people  as  it  does 
in  Russia.  It  is  truly  a  season  of  joy,  a 
time  when  every  one  is  happy,  when 
quarrels  are  forgotten,  when  enemies  be- 
come friends  and  peace  and  good-will 
reign  throughout  the  land. 

When,  in  retrospect,  I  think  of  my 
happy  boyhood  in  Little  Russia,  the  re- 
membrance of  Eastertide  brings  me  mem- 
ories as  of  a  Land  of  Holy  Things  and  of 
a  time  of  happiness  and  rejoicing. 

The  church  was  near  our  house,  since 
the  clergy  in  Russia  were  practically  at- 
tached to  the  estates,  so  although  we  went 
there  on  big  occasions,  as  a  rule  the  serv- 
ices were  held  at  home.  During  the  long 
Lenten  season  (when  the  moujiks  fasted 
on  Wednesdays  and  Fridays  for  seven 
weeks)  we  all  looked  forward  to  Easter 


THE  WITCH- EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN      49 

eve,  when  the  joyous  spirit  of  the  season 
would  become  manifest  after  weeks  and 
weeks  of  repression. 

On  the  evening  before  Easter  there  was 
always  a  special  church  service,  and  at 
midnight  the  fast  was  broken  with  great 
rejoicing.  In  each  household,  for  weeks 
before  this  night,  the  housewives  were 
busy  preparing  the  luscious  special  dishes 
— never  eaten  at  any  other  time — with 
which  Easter  is  associated  in  the  minds  of 
all  Russians.  During  this  period  Ksenia 
was  inexorable. 

"  You  can't  come  into  this  kitchen," 
she  announced  every  time  we  attempted 
raids,  meanwhile  standing  solidly  planted 
in  the  doorway. 

"  Ksenia,  golubushka  "  (dear),  pleaded 
Ivan,  "just  a  peep  I  " 

But  even  flattery  never  attained  the  de- 
sired end  and  we  could  do  nothing  but 
watch  the  dozens  and  dozens  of  eggs  taken 
from  our  cellar,  and  see  the  pans  of  home- 
made cream-cheese  taken  to  the  forbidden 


50      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

territory  of  the  kitchen.  However,  we  did 
go  to  watch  the  little  pigs  being  specially 
fattened  for  the  occasion.  It  was  all  most 
thrilling. 

As  the  great  time  drew  near,  we  were 
allowed  to  take  part  in  one  special  joy — 
the  painting  of  the  Easter  eggs.  The 
whole  family  gathered  around  the  dining- 
room  table,  and  for  hours  we  sat  dipping 
the  eggs,  mostly  in  cochineal,  so  that  they 
were  a  bright  red.  Others  were  boiled  with 
colored  rags,  and  came  out  dyed  with  all 
the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  There  were 
many  planned  secrets. 

"  Vania,"  I  would  whisper  to  him,  while 
Mother  was  out  of  the  room,  "  help  me 
write  *  Mahma '  on  this  egg — it's  for  her." 

So  Ivan  lent  his  aid  in  tracing  the  letters 
on  the  egg  in  wax.  When  the  egg  was 
dipped  it  came  out  red  all  over,  except 
where  the  writing  was.  We  also  often 
drew  pictures  or  wrote  inscriptions,  and 
these  came  out  so  white  and  clear  that  the 
process  was  in  itself  a  source  of  great  ex- 


THE  WITCH-EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN      51 

citement.  Hundreds  of  eggs  were  pre- 
pared during  the  week  before  Easter,  and 
each  one  of  us  had  a  surprise  for  every 
other  member  of  the  family. 

At  last  the  wonderful  evening  came. 
I  still  feel  the  thrill  of  expectancy  and 
anticipation  that  pulsated  through  the 
neighborhood.  As  the  dusk  drew  in,  the 
peasants  brought  to  the  church,  for  a 
blessing,  the  food  which  was  to  be  eaten 
when  the  fast  was  broken.  There  was  a 
rough  hedge  around  our  little  church, 
and  beside  this,  on  the  ground,  the  people 
laid  the  roasted  meats,  the  baked  cakes  and 
the  Easter  eggs  they  had  prepared.  After 
the  midnight  service  the  people  went  out- 
side the  church,  and  stood  beside  the 
food,  each  one  holding  a  lighted  candle. 
The  still  night,  the  hushed  expectancy  of 
the  gathered  peasants,  the  light  stream- 
ing out  from  the  church  and  the  distant 
barking  of  dogs — it  was  Russia — the 
Russia  of  the  happiest  time  of  my  life. 
But  a  rustle  swept  over  the  people. 


52      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

"  BatiushJca  (Little  Father)  is  com- 
ing I "  went  the  whisper,  as  the  tall, 
lanky  figure  of  the  priest  appeared, 
clothed  in  flowing  robes,  with  his  servers 
in  procession.  He  carried  a  small  asperges 
or  broom  in  his  hand,  and  a  server  fol- 
lowed him  with  a  vessel  of  Holy  Water. 
As  Batiushka  passed  between  the  rows 
and  rows  of  food  to  be  blessed,  he  dipped 
the  asperges  in  the  holy  water  and  lightly 
sprinkled  the  offerings.  And  as  he 
passed  and  returned  to  the  church  the 
tension  of  the  mystery  fled,  and  the  peo- 
ple turned  to  each  other  with  the  glad 
words,  "  Christ  is  Risen  !  "  They  chatted 
excitedly  and  gradually  dispersed,  all 
carrying  flickering  candles  and  the  food 
that  had  been  blessed.  The  village  was 
athrob  with  the  sense  of  relief  and  joy  ; 
sounds  of  laughter  and  merriment  filled 
the  air,  and  the  dark  roads  were  alive 
with  the  moving  candle-lights,  the  con- 
secrated will-o'-the-wisps  of  the  Russian 
people.  As  each  family  of  serfs  or  peas- 


BATIUSHKA. 


THE  WITCH- EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN      63 

ants  entered  the  izba,  the  head  of  the 
family  always  made  a  cross  of  lampblack 
just  inside  the  door,  by  holding  the  holy 
candle  close  to  the  whitewashed  ceiling. 
Then  the  candles  were  put  out  and  kept 
until  the  next  year. 

We,  gathered  in  the  big  dining-room, 
also  waited  anxiously  for  the  coming  of 
Batiushka,  for  our  food,  as  well,  had  to  be 
blessed. 

"  He's  coming  !  "  We  all  rushed  in 
with  the  news  to  our  parents  and  the  as- 
sembled relatives. 

After  the  ceremony,  Batiushka  always 
remained  to  break  his  fast  with  us.  The 
long  dining-room  table  was  covered  with 
a  home-made  damask  cloth,  specially 
woven  for  this  great  occasion.  The 
dishes  stood  on  wonderful  embroidered 
doilies,  decorated  with  hand-made  lace. 
Nothing  was  overlooked  to  make  the 
festival  different  from  every  other  season. 

There  was  always  a  young  pig,  roasted 
whole,  and  stuffed  with  rice,  prunes,  and 


54      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  EUSSIA 

raisins.  A  young  lamb  was  also  pre- 
pared in  the  same  way.  Think  of 
Ksenia's  kitchen  and  the  fire  big  enough 
to  roast  these  whole !  There  were  all 
kinds  of  fish,  most  of  which  had  been 
caught  near  by,  besides  caviar  from  the 
Volga  and  all  sorts  of  pickled  dainties. 
Yet  it  was  the  Paskha,  looming  high 
above  all  the  other  delicacies,  one  of  the 
national  dishes  of  Russia,  which  I  re- 
member as  the  chief  dish  of  Easter.  Be- 
side it  always  stood  the  cheese  Paskha,  an- 
other indispensable  tribute  to  the  season. 
The  Paskha  is  a  kind  of  cake  that 
stands  about  one  and  a  half  feet  high  on  a 
base  of  eight  inches.  It  goes  straight  up, 
and  on  top  my  mother  would  make  shiny 
sugar  decorations,  and  mould  either  a 
sugar  lamb  with  a  flag,  or  a  sugar  double 
cross.  About  sixty  eggs  were  used  to 
make  the  Paskha,  and  its  taste  was  such 
as  only  the  Russians  know  how  to  pro- 
duce. Nowhere  are  the  candies  and 
cakes  equal  to  those  made  in  Russia. 


THE  WITCH- EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN      55 

'  The  cheese  Paskha  was  made  of  our 
home-made  cheese  in  the  form  of  a 
truncated  cone,  with  crosses  moulded 
along  the  sides.  These  two  Paskhas  are 
the  greatest  delicacies  in  Russia,  and  no 
Easter  is  complete  without  them. 

As  decorations  for  the  table,  during 
Lent,  Ksenia  used  to  plant  wheat  and 
oats  in  small  dishes,  and  these  sprouted 
to  make  pretty  green  islands  in  the  midst 
of  the  Easter  feast. 

Wherever  there  was  room,  stood  dishes 
filled  with  colored  Easter  eggs  of  every 
tint  and  shade.  Many  of  the  eggs  had 
our  names  written  on  them,  while  others 
were  covered  with  designs  and  pictures. 
It  was  indeed  a  night  of  surprises. 

On  that  great  night,  we  children  went 
to  bed  near  morning,  and  Mother  and 
Father  did  not  retire  at  all.  The  next 
day  the  full  spirit  of  joy  and  happiness 
reigned  everywhere  in  Russia.  Even  to 
strangers  the  greeting  was  addressed : 
"  Christ  is  Risen  I "  To  which  the  re- 


56      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  EUSSIA 

sponse  was  made :  "  He  is  Risen,  in- 
deed ! "  The  kiss  of  peace  was  always 
exchanged,  and  then  each  person  took 
out  an  Easter  egg  and  gave  it  as  a  token. 
No  one  went  out  without  carrying  Easter 
eggs.  Many  of  the  eggs  were  made  of 
chocolate  or  other  candy.  Others  were 
valuable,  sometimes,  indeed,  being  made 
of  gold  with  precious  stones,  and  these 
were  used  as  gifts,  like  Christmas  pres- 
ents. 

Always  also  there  were  wooden  eggs 
inside  wooden  eggs,  with  yet  smaller 
eggs  inside,  all  brightly  colored,  for  this 
delight  of  finding  one  thing  inside  the 
other  is  very  general  among  Russian 
children.  We  had  boxes  inside  boxes, 
sometimes  as  many  as  seven.  The  girls 
had  wooden  dolls  inside  wooden  dolls, 
from  a  big  doll  two  feet  high  to  the 
littlest  doll  inside,  perhaps  not  as  big  as 
a  finger.  And  all  were  alike  in  shape. 

On  Easter  morning  the  streets  of  the 
village  were  full  of  these  old-time  cus- 


THE  WITCH- EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN      57 

toms,  and  nobody  refused  a  greeting.  In 
the  house  Father  and  Mother  also  re- 
ceived greetings  from  their  peasants. 

During  the  whole  of  Easter  week  the 
dining-room  table  was  never  cleared ; 
Mother  and  Ksenia  kept  it  supplied  with 
a  never-ceasing  flood  of  dainties.  On  the 
first  day  after  Easter  we  were  visited  by 
young  people,  who  flocked  to  our  house 
in  dozens,  often  passing  the  night  with 
us,  for  traveling  was  a  difficult  problem 
in  those  days  of  rough  roads,  and  some- 
times the  snow  was  still  on  the  ground. 
The  second  day  was  usually  the  day  of 
visits  on  the  part  of  the  older  people, 
who  went  to  exchange  greetings  with 
their  friends.  The  roads  were  musical 
with  the  tinkling  of  troika-bells,  as  call- 
ers sped  from  estate  to  estate  at  topmost 
speed. 

With  so  many  hard-boiled  and  prettily 
decorated  eggs  at  our  disposal,  we  spent 
a  great  part  of  Easter  week  playing  games 
with  the  eggs  (and  eating  them  when 


58      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN 

they  broke).  We  had  many  traditional 
games  with  them,  the  favorite  being  one 
in  which  a  trough  of  boards  was  made, 
tipping  slightly  on  the  floor.  A  dozen 
eggs  were  then  placed  on  the  floor. 
Piotr,  as  eldest,  set  his  eggs  down  first. 
Aniuta  was  usually  given  the  initial 
chance  to  roll  one  of  her  eggs  down 
the  trough,  to  try  to  hit  whichever  egg 
of  Piotr's  row  she  most  fancied.  We  all 
stood  around  expectantly,  for  the  game 
was  an  uncertain  one.  If  the  eggs  met 
without  mishap,  Aniuta  won,  but  if  one 
of  the  eggs  cracked,  the  good  egg  went  to 
the  sufferer.  It  required  skill  to  roll 
gently  and  in  a  straight  line.  We  all 
battled  for  the  possession  of  a  special 
egg  given  every  year  by  Father,  and  the 
one  who  was  lucky  enough  to  hit  it,  kept 
it  for  many  months  as  a  memory  of  the 
year's  most  glorious  festival. 

Since  in  Russia  religious  interpreta- 
tions govern  most  festivals,  birthdays 
were  not  celebrated.  We  did  not  look 


THE  WITCH-EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN      59 

forward  to  our  birthdays  as  do  American 
children,  but  our  "  name  days  "  were  tri- 
umphantly celebrated.  These  brought 
us  parties  and  presents.  All  our  play- 
mates were  named  after  the  saints  of  the 
calendar,  so  that  each  had  a  patron  saint, 
with  a  special  day  assigned.  Instead  of 
having  to  write  down  birthday  dates,  if 
one  knew  a  friend's  name  one  could  al- 
ways send  a  gift  or  a  message  on  the  feast 
day  of  that  saint  after  whom  the  friend 
had  been  named.  On  St.  Vladimir's  day, 
therefore,  I  always  had  a  party.  The 
boys  from  the  neighboring  families  used 
to  drive  to  the  house  and  Ksenia  strove 
her  hardest  to  prepare  good  things  in  my 
honor. 

Even  in  the  most  excitable  "  name-day  " 
party  the  symbolism  was  not  forgotten. 
An  ikon  hung  in  the  corner  of  the  din- 
ing-room. It  was  a  painted  representa- 
tion of  the  Virgin  Mary,  with  all  the 
picture — save  for  the  hands  and  face — cov- 
ered with  a  gilt  plaque.  Before  sitting 


60      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

down  to  table,  we  all  crossed  ourselves, 
turning  slightly  to  the  ikon.  Mother 
poured  out  the  Russian  tea,  taking  the 
water  from  the  boiling  samovar,  which 
stood  on  the  table.  It  was  like  a  large, 
brass  urn,  with  a  little  stove  in  the  centre 
of  it  in  which  charcoal  burned,  to  keep 
the  water  boiling  all  the  time.  We  had 
plenty  of  home-made  jam,  and  the  cakes 
abounded. 

At  last  the  feast  came  to  an  end,  and 
every  one  was  ready  for  a  noisy  game. 

"  Let's  play  blind-man's-buff,"  I 
shouted. 

"  Yes,  yes,  let's/'  everybody  responded, 
for  that  was  a  game  the  zest  of  which 
never  waned.  But  we  did  not  jump  up 
immediately.  For  one  moment  there 
was  a  silence,  while  we  all  crossed  our- 
selves once  more,  and  then  we  were  free 
to  go  to  our  games. 

There  were  also  several  ikons  in  the 
bedrooms,  with  incense-burners  swung 
before  them,  suspended  by  a  thin  chain 


TEE  WITCH- EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN      61 

attached  to  the  ceiling.  In  Mother's 
room  there  was  a  triangular  table  in  the 
corner,  on  which  ikons  stood,  with  a  light 
always  burning  before  them,  and  a  fald- 
stool, on  which  she  knelt  to  pray.  Relig- 
ion was  very  simple  in  the  Russia  of  my 
childhood,  and  it  was  universal.  We 
were  not  taught  reverence  as  such;  we 
grew  up  in  it.  It  was  a  part  of  our  lives. 

There  were  many  other  celebrations  in 
which  the  church  took  part,  but  Russia 
is  an  old  country,  and  many  of  the  cus- 
toms are  far  older  than  Christianity. 
They  date  back  to  a  time  when  people 
believed  in  witches  and  sprites  and  evil 
fairies  even  more  than  they  do  now,  and 
when  they  thought  that  the  powers  of 
darkness  needed  to  be  remembered  and 
warded  off.  One  such  celebration,  espe- 
cially, is  sharply  defined  in  my  memory. 
This  is  St.  John's  eve. 

On  June  twenty-third,  almost  the  long- 
est day  of  the  year,  we  children  were  al- 
lowed to  stay  up  late  to  watch  the  fires 


62      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  EUSSIA 

of  St.  John,  as  they  were  burned  through 
the  evening  by  the  peasants. 

In  our  woods  there  was  a  "  circle,"  be- 
lieved to  have  been  used  for  many  centu- 
ries for  this  purpose,  to  which  the  peasants 
hauled  brushwood.  Ivan  and  I,  always 
together,  watched  the  dark  figures  with 
awe  and  fear.  They  were  getting  ready 
to  make  the  fire,  which  would  cleanse 
them  from  all  evil  spirits  and  sickness. 

At  last  it  burned.  The  flames  rose 
high  in  the  centre  of  the  clearing,  casting 
weird  shadows  on  the  assembled  peasants 
in  their  bright-colored  holiday  costumes, 
and  on  the  surrounding  forest,  sunk  in 
the  darkness  of  the  warm,  still  night.  I 
did  not  dare  look  behind,  for  I  felt  cer- 
tain that  between  the  faintly  lighted 
trunks  of  the  trees  lurked  those  goblins 
about  whom  Nikola  had  told  us  so 
many  tales.  And  yet  I  wanted  to  meet 
them. 

As  the  fire  crackled,  the  divchata  and 
the  hloptzi  pressed  close  to  it,  and  every 


THE  WITCH- EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN      63 

sudden  spark  raised  little  subdued  giggles 
and  a  little  stampede. 

"  You  go  first — no,  you — no "  flut- 
tered from  one  or  the  other  of  the  eager 
peasants.  All  wanted  to  be  clean  from 
evil  spirits  and  from  disease,  but  it  took 
courage  to  jump  through  the  uncertain 
fire,  with  its  hungry  flames. 

Old  Nikola,  the  man  who  knew  every- 
thing about  the  Unseen  World,  was  the 
priest  that  night.  Stern,  with  his  fur 
cap  firmly  pulled  over  his  forehead,  he 
watched  for  the  mysterious  hour,  when 
tradition  allowed  the  beginning  of  the 
ceremony.  "  It's  almost  one  hour  before 
midnight,"  he  announced  solemnly,  and 
the  tense  excitement  grew. 

I  pressed  closer  to  Ivan,  watching  the 
fire  and  the  dark  background  beyond. 
The  hour  of  fairies  was  fast  approaching, 
the  hour  when  they  came  to  earth.  I 
longed  and  yet  I  dreaded  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  dream-beings,  flitting  in 
the  darkness  beyond. 


64      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

"  It  is  time,"  said  Nikola,  suddenly, 
guessing  the  moment  by  some  instinct, 
for  he  had  no  other  means  at  hand. 
"  Who  goes  first — you,  Stepan  ?  " 

And  with  this  direct  challenge  before 
him,  I  saw  my  old  friend,  Stepan,  step 
forward  before  the  fire  and  hesitate. 

"Go  on — jump  I  "  came  the  encourag- 
ing whispers. 

The  fire  crackled  and  sent  bright 
sparks  among  the  encircling  people,  and 
he  jumped,  leaving  in  the  fire  both  evil 
and  disease.  The  peasant  girls  followed, 
with  embroidered  skirts  held  tight,  while 
on  the  other  side  of  the  cleansing  fire 
waited  those  who  were  willing  and  ready 
to  catch  the  jumper,  and  to  beat  out  the 
little  sparks  that  settled  on  the  clothing. 

Holy  Russia  !  The  Russia  of  tradition 
and  fairy  tales,  the  Russia  which  was  a 
part  of  us  when  we,  too,  jumped  the 
sparkling  fires  on  St.  John's  Eve. 


Editor 


>A  by  Gilbert  H.  ir/wc/cm//-, 
ational  Geographic  Magazii 


ne. 
HOLY  RUSSIA." 


A  devout  Russian  stopping  to  cross  hiraself  as  he  passes  a  shrine; 
a  very  common  sigh*. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   DAYS   OF   THE   SCHOOL   TYRANT 

IN  my  childhood  there  were  no  schools 
with  primary  classes.  Admission  to  the 
gymnasium,  which  corresponds  to  the 
eighth  and  ninth  grades  of  the  American 
school,  the  high  school,  and  the  first  two 
years  at  college,  was  only  secured  by  the 
passing  of  an  entrance  examination  at 
about  the  age  of  ten.  Accordingly,  we 
had  to  receive  all  our  preparatory  train- 
ing at  home.  This  system  has  since  been 
changed,  for  there  are  now  two  prepara- 
tory classes  for  children  under  ten,  so 
that  they  can  prepare  their  entrance  ex- 
aminations at  school,  instead  of  at  home. 

It  was  the  custom  among  the  nobles  to 

keep  a  resident  tutor  for  their  children, 

as  a  member  of  the  household  during  the 

period  of  preparation.     My  parents,  how- 

65 


66      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

ever,  could  not  afford  this  expense,  for 
our  estate,  though  ample,  was  not  large, 
in  comparison  with  Russian  estates,  and 
it  took  good  management  to  derive  suffi- 
cient income  from  it.  We  lived  a  long 
way  from  any  city,  and  there  were  no 
transportation  facilities. 

Thus  it  followed  that  my  two  brothers, 
my  sisters,  and  myself  were  given  our 
preparatory  training  at  home  first  from 
Mother,  who  made  time  to  superintend 
our  studies,  in  spite  of  her  numerous 
household  duties.  Mother  was  a  highly 
cultured  woman,  speaking  several  lan- 
guages, and  was  a  musician  besides.  Bati- 
ushka,  the  priest  on  the  estate,  did  his 
share  in  teaching  us.  We  were  required 
to  learn  elementary  arithmetic,  grammar 
and  composition,  our  prayers  and  the 
catechism. 

Every  morning,  for  at  least  two  hours, 
we  studied.  Father's  military  ideas  pre- 
vailed on  the  question  of  time,  and  noth- 
ing was  allowed  to  interfere  with  our 


THE  SCHOOL  TYRANT  67 

educational  routine.  I  was  always  impa- 
tient of  my  morning  lessons,  for  I  wanted 
to  be  out-of-doors  in  summer,  climbing 
trees  and  swimming ;  in  winter,  skating 
and  battling  in  the  snow.  Of  course  I 
knew  that  I  had  to  pass  the  gymnasium 
examination,  so  when  I  was  in  class  I 
applied  myself  to  my  work.  Both  Mother 
and  Batiushka  were  strict,  and  while  the 
range  of  studies  we  took  up  was  not  large, 
it  was  very  thorough.  Batiushka  was 
gentle  and  we  were  quite  fond  of  him, 
but  his  quizzes  are  still  to  be  remembered. 
Batiushka,  which,  as  I  said  before, 
means  "  little  father,"  was  the  title  by 
which  our  tutor-clergyman  was  known. 
Every  priest  is  Batiushka  to  his  flock, 
for  he  is  regarded  as  the  father  who  takes 
care  of  them  all.  Our  Batiushka,  whose 
small  church  and  house  were  quite  near 
us,  always  wore  cotton  trousers,  tucked 
into  high  boots  that  reached  to  his  knees, 
with  a  long  coarsely-woven  cassock,  that 
reached  from  his  chin  almost  to  his 


68      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

ankles.  Neither  his  hair  nor  his  beard 
ever  were  cut,  according  to  the  rule  of 
the  church,  so  both  were  long,  and  his 
hair  hung  down  his  back  in  straggling 
curls.  Besides  his  visits  to  the  school- 
room, he  was  a  frequent  guest  at  our 
house  in  the  evenings. 

When  Batiushka  came  to  instruct  us  in 
the  catechism  and  prayers,  he  had  to 
teach  us  a  new  language,  and  this  added 
a  great  deal  to  our  labors  for  the  gymna- 
sium entrance  examinations.  The  Rus- 
sian Bible  and  all  the  prayers  are  writ- 
ten in  Old  Slavonic,  which  is  so  old  a 
form  of  Russian  that  it  is  different  from 
it  in  many  ways.  The  words  were  differ- 
ent, and  even  the  letters  were  shaped 
strangely,  but  we  had  to  learn  to  read  it 
fluently  from  the  original  text.  This 
meant  much  work  and  study,  far  more 
than  I  ever  wanted  to  do,  but  Mother  was 
always  ready  to  help  us,  for  it  would 
have  been  a  terrible  disgrace  had  any  of 
us  failed  in  the  examinations. 


THE  SCHOOL  TYEANT  69 

When,  at  the  age  of  ten,  I  went  for  my 
examination,  my  excitement  was  great, 
and  when  it  was  known  that  I  had  passed 
and  was  actually  entered  as  a  pupil  in  the 
first  class,  I  felt  that  I  was  quite  grown 
up. 

At  last  came  the  day  when  I  was  to 
leave  Luka-Barskaya  to  go  to  the  gymna- 
sium at  Nemirov,  a  small  town  in  the 
same  government. 

"  It's  quite  a  long  drive/1  explained 
Ivan  to  me,  as  we  drove  away  in  charge 
of  the  coachman,  Stepan,  "  but  111  show 
you  everything,  and  you  won't  mind 
being  away  from  home  a  bit.  I  didn't, 
when  I  went." 

Nemirov,  in  1858,  when  I  went  there 
for  the  first  time,  belonged  to  a  very  old 
Polish  noble,  Count  Felix  Pototzky.  He 
had  given  the  necessary  funds  for  the 
building  of  the  gymnasium,  which  was 
only  accessible,  in  those  days,  to  the  sons 
of  the  nobility  and  privileged  classes. 
No  provision  had  yet  been  made  for  the 


70      WHEN  I  WAS  A  EOT  IN  RUSSIA 

education  of  the  serfs,  though  to-day  vast 
efforts  are  being  made  to  give  opportuni- 
ties to  the  peasants. 

I  remember  Count  Pototzky  as  an  old 
man,  always  heavily  scented,  who  held  a 
prominent  position  at  the  Court  of  the 
Tsar.  Consequently,  he  spent  his  winters 
in  Petrograd  at  the  Court,  and  his  sum- 
mers in  his  Palazzo  in  Nemirov.  This 
was  a  mansion  surrounded  by  a  wide 
park,  in  which  an  orchestra  played  on 
fine  evenings,  and  which  was  open  to  the 
people  of  the  town,  who  went  there  in 
large  numbers.  The  park  was  traversed 
by  many  flower-bordered  alleys  that  mean- 
dered among  the  green  lawns  and  glades 
of  woodland.  When  Ivan  took  me 
around,  the  first  thing  he  showed  me  was 
the  playground  next  to  the  gymnasium. 

"  Count  Pototzky  has  given  all  these 
things,  too,"  he  explained,  showing  me  a 
bewildering  array  of  swings  and  nets. 
"  See  those  nets,  spread  above  the  ground  ? 
Well,  those  are  for  jumping  on, — this 


THE  SCHOOL  TYRANT  71 

way,"  and  I  found  myself  alone,  while 
Vania  jumped  like  a  monkey  on  the 
large  nets,  spread  over  a  great  distance, 
that  bounced  him  up  into  the  air  like  an 
elastic  ball.  I  did  not  need  much  en- 
couragement to  join  him,  or  to  learn  the 
use  of  the  swings  and  giant  strides. 

The  houses  in  Nemirov  were  mostly 
built  of  wood  with  thatched  straw  roofs, 
and  nearly  all  of  them  were  surrounded 
by  huge  gardens.  In  summer  the  streets 
were  so  dusty  that  we  traveled  to  the 
gymnasium  through  clouds  of  dust,  and 
we  fancied  ourselves  a  company  of  hus- 
sars on  the  charge. 

In  winter-time  the  mud  was  so  deep 
that  we  had  to  wear  high  boots,  and  I 
still  feel  the  delight  with  which  Ivan  and 
I  used  to  wade  into  the  middle  of  the 
street,  where  the  mud  was  deepest.  We 
played  that  it  was  lava  from  a  volcano. 

These  high  boots  were  almost  univer- 
sally worn  in  Russia,  both  by  children 
and  by  grown-up  people,  partly  because 


72      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

it  was  a  custom,  and  partly  because  of 
the  deep  mud  on  the  streets  of  provincial 
towns.  The  boots  are  still  worn,  although 
there  has  been  a  vast  improvement  in  the 
condition  of  the  roads. 

We  reached  school  at  nine  o'clock  in 
the  morning  and  were  not  let  out  until 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  with  only 
an  allowance  of  half  an  hour  for  dinner, 
and  recesses  of  ten  minutes  between 
lessons.  Many  of  the  boys  brought 
sandwiches  for  dinner,  but  Ivan  and  I 
used  to  race  home,  for  the  house  where 
we  boarded  through  the  term  was  not  far 
from  school.  Ivan  was  a  better  runner 
than  I,  but  that  sharp  trot  every  day 
through  dust,  or  mud,  or  snow  built  up 
my  wind  amazingly.  Almost  the  only 
exercise  we  had  during  school  term  was 
that  which  we  undertook  for  ourselves, 
for  we  had  none  of  the  school  sports  that 
are  so  wide-spread  in  England,  and — to  a 
less  degree — in  America.  We  had  a  large 
courtyard  in  the  school,  where  we  played 


THE  SCHOOL  TTEANT  73 

ball  in  summer.  One  of  our  favorite 
games  was  lutJca,  which  is  the  Russian 
name  for  baseball,  played  similarly  to  the 
American  game,  except  that  we  had  no 
coaching  or  training.  Another  game  that 
absorbed  us  was  stenka,  a  kind  of  hand- 
ball, except  that  we  played  it  without 
rules,  and  very  much  as  we  pleased.  In 
winter  we  waged  battles  with  snowballs, 
which  were  so  fierce  that  the  teachers  did 
not  dare  show  themselves  in  the  yard  for 
fear  of  well-aimed  "  bullets  "  hitting  them. 

The  work  at  school  was  hard  and  the 
conditions  under  which  it  had  to  be  done 
were  more  than  unpleasant.  We  were 
treated  almost  like  convicts,  and  the 
teachers  handled  us  just  as  they  pleased. 

"  Hey,  you,  porridge-eating  beetles  1 
Keep  quiet  I  Silence  !  "  would  shout  old 
Volkovsky,  our  teacher  of  arithmetic, 
when  we  became  too  noisy.  But  we  did 
not  stop. 

"  Ha !  Whew  I  "  he  would  spit  on  Ihe 
floor,  then  get  up  from  his  desk. 


74      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

We  all  knew  that  if  old  Volkovsky  got 
up  for  any  other  reason  than  that  of 
going  to  the  blackboard,  we  were  going 
to  have  trouble.  Immediate  silence 
reigned — the  silence  before  a  storm. 
With  bated  breath,  not  daring  to  move, 
we  waited  for  the  hurricane  to  descend  on 
some  one  of  us.  Suddenly  a  blow  would 
whizz  through  the  air,  and  we  turned 
in  time  to  see  the  head  of  one  of  our 
comrades  banging  helplessly  against  the 
desk,  as  old  Volkovsky  hit  the  culprit. 

Teacher  Gishman,  who  taught  French 
and  German,  used  a  ruler  as  a  means  of 
corporal  punishment.  He  always  called 
out  four  boys  at  a  time  for  questions,  and 
made  them  stand  in  a  row  before  him. 

"  Vinegar  ?  "  he  asked.  If  the  answer 
was  not  instantaneous,  he  passed  on  to 
the  next. 

"  Quicker  —  you  —  you  ! "  When  all 
had  failed,  he  shouted :  "  Give  me  your 
paws,  you  scoundrels." 

"  Es-sig"  he  hissed  between  his  teeth 


THE  SCHOOL  TYRANT  '75 

as  his  ruler  came  down  on  the  hand  of 
the  first  boy. 

"  Es-sig"  he  repeated  with  acerbity,  as 
he  raised  the  ruler  on  the  next  boy. 
When  he  had  finished,  the  four  boys 
returned  to  their  seats  with  red  faces, 
while  four  new  victims,  with  pale  faces, 
were  called  out.  After  his  lessons  our 
hands  were  swollen  and  red,  as  if  we  had 
been  playing  two  of  our  favorite  ball 
games,  stenJca  and  kasha,  after  which  our 
hands  often  were  so  swollen  that  we  could 
not  bend  the  fingers. 

Our  reading  teacher,  Antonikovsky, 
found  vent  for  his  temper  in  an  entirely 
different  way. 

"You,  pig's  ear,  read,"  he  commanded, 
poking  the  boy  thus  addressed  in  the 
back. 

"  You  dirty  snout,  sitting  next  to  the 
pig's  snout,  repeat  what  I  said  ! "  and  the 
boy  at  whom  his  finger  was  pointed  was 
compelled  to  repeat  the  words.  He  had 
a  perfectly  marvelous  imagination,  and 


76      WEEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

there  was  little  repetition  in  his  epithets, 
for  he  always  invented  new  ones.  When 
he  lost  his  temper  he  used  to  catch  the 
culprit  by  the  ear  and  squeeze  very  hard. 

I  cannot  deny  that  we  made  so  much 
noise  that  we  could  not  even  hear  our- 
selves talk.  When  recess  was  announced, 
I  remember  one  of  the  boys,  Cherkassky, 
jumping  up  on  a  bench,  and  stamping 
hard  with  both  feet,  shouting,  "  Pe-re- 
me-na  !"  "  Re-ce-e-ess  I "  We  would  take 
up  the  cry  in  different  tones,  and  the 
teacher,  with  his  fingers  in  his  ears,  hur- 
riedly left  the  class  room.  Suddenly,  amid 
the  hubbub — like  a  bomb — Overseer  Kors- 
sun  entered  and  grabbed  all  the  boys  close 
to  him  by  the  hair.  We  dodged,  like 
sheep,  the  blows  that  were  showered 
on  us. 

At  intervals  Inspector  Delsal  arrived  in 
the  class  room,  followed  by  the  janitor, 
Ossiatovsky,  with  a  bunch  of  rozgi  or  rods, 
and  placing  a  stool  in  front  of  the  benches, 
began  whipping  the  noisy  ones. 


THE  SCHOOL  TYRANT  77 

The  state  of  affairs  in  the  gymnasia  of 
Russia  had  become  a  national  scandal, 
and  efforts  were  made  to  reform  these 
conditions.  A  year  after  my  entrance 
into  this  atmosphere  of  continuous  abuse 
and  corporal  punishment,  the  system  was 
entirely  changed,  after  which  we  were 
never  abused  and  whipped,  although  the 
spirit  in  the  gymnasium  was  anything 
but  peaceful.  The  rough  discipline,  how- 
ever, taught  us  boys  a  few  things.  It 
taught  us  to  combine  against  the  teach- 
ers, and  many  a  bitter  practical  joke  was 
played  on  them,  not  slight  jests,  but 
affairs  that  were  flavored  with  revenge 
and  hate.  The  seeds  of  hatred  toward 
those  in  power  were  sown  at  school.  We 
had  heard  rumors  of  the  coming  change, 
but  not  even  the  most  sanguine  of  us  be- 
lieved that  the  Pirogoff  reform  would  be 
as  sweeping  as  it  was.  The  masters  were 
ordered  to  treat  the  pupils  with  respect, 
and  instead  of  the  raucous  "  you  "  or  even 
insulting  epithets,  they  were  required  to 


78      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  HUSSIA 

address  us  by  name  with  the  prefix  Gos- 
podin  or  Master.  This  shows  how  utterly 
the  point  of  view  had  changed.  It  was  a 
marvelous  reform,  but  it  was  too  sudden. 

After  the  trusteeship  of  Pirogoff,  to 
whom  every  one  of  us  owed  a  debt  of 
gratitude,  Baron  Nicholas  obtained  the 
position,  and  having  been  brought  up  in 
the  schools  of  the  old  style,  he  believed 
that  rough  handling  led  to  manliness. 
He  tried  to  restore  the  old  system,  but 
this  was  impossible.  We  had  learned 
that  school  could  be  managed  without 
brutality,  and  the  effort  to  force  it  on  us 
again  led  to  revolt.  The  feeling  between 
the  boys  and  the  masters  became  even 
more  bitter. 

At  this  time  an  insurrection  broke  out 
in  Poland,  which,  once  having  been  a 
great  and  important  kingdom,  has  always 
been  impatient  and  resentful  of  being 
merely  a  Russian  province.  The  Poles 
were  anxious  to  shake  off  some  of  the 
hardships  imposed  on  them  by  Russia, 


THE  SCHOOL  TYEANT  79 

one  of  which  was  the  refusal  of  the  gov- 
ernment to  allow  Polish  in  schools.  In 
Nemirov,  most  of  the  nobility  were  Polish, 
while  the  peasants  were  Jcatzapi  or  Little 
Russian.  The  Polish  noblemen  organized 
themselves  and  their  trusted  followers  into 
a  militia  which  used  arson  as  a  weapon. 
This  caused  the  Russian  government  to 
take  strong  measures  to  crush  the  rebellion 
and  prevent  further  burning  of  houses. 

Nemirov  became  an  armed  centre,  the 
streets  were  filled  with  soldiers  and  every 
house  was  watched.  The  officers  searched 
all  the  homes  in  which  they  suspected  the 
presence  of  revolutionary  literature.  It 
was  a  very  exciting  time,  and  the  political 
unrest  permeated  our  schoolrooms,  where 
most  of  the  boys  were  sons  of  Polish  no- 
bles, with  a  minority  of  Little  Russians. 
I  remember  seeing  gendarmes  or  police 
peeping  into  houses  through  the  cracks  in 
the  shades  in  an  effort  to  find  evidence  of 
incriminating  activities. 

That  vacation,  when  Stepan  came  to 


80      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  EUSSIA 

drive  us  three  boys  home,  he  was  fright- 
ened. 

"  Piotr  Karpovitch,"  he  said  to  the  eld- 
est of  us,  "  the  people  are  attacking  all 
the  Pani  (nobles)." 

"But  we're  not  Polish  Pani,  we're 
Russian,"  answered  Piotr  in  bewilder- 
ment. Nevertheless,  we  had  to  get 
home,  so  we  started  on  our  eventful 
journey. 

To  reach  Luka-Barskaya  we  had  to 
pass  about  ten  villages,  and  at  the  very 
first  one,  trouble  began.  As  we  ap- 
proached, some  of  the  peasant  guards 
closed  the  village  gates,  thus  barring  the 
road,  while  others,  with  clubs  in  their 
hands,  rushed  out  of  the  guard-house, 
shouting : 

"  Stop ! "  at  the  same  time  catching  the 
bridles  of  the  horses. 

Our  horses,  frightened  by  this  unusual 
treatment,  lurched  from  side  to  side,  with 
their  heads  thrown  back,  whereupon  one 
of  the  guards  used  his  club  on  their  heads 


THE  SCHOOL  TYEANT  81 

to  quiet  them  down.  This  only  increased 
their  panic.  Meanwhile  the  rest  of  the 
guards,  Laving  closed  the  gates,  began 
shouting  and  demanding  our  passports. 
Until  these  were  produced  and  read  to 
the  satisfaction  of  the  men,  who  now 
realized  that  we  were  Russians  and  not 
Poles,  there  was  so  much  abuse  and  noise 
that  we  were  almost  deaf. 

Had  this  happened  only  once  we  might 
not  have  felt  the  journey  so  disturbing, 
but  the  same  scene  was  repeated  in  the 
following  three  villages.  We  were  al- 
ready beginning  to  think  that  we  would 
get  home  with  nothing  worse  than  abuse 
and  noisy  demonstrations,  when  we 
reached  a  larger  village,  where  the 
guards  were  apparently  even  fiercer. 

"  Stop ! "  yelled  the  guard,  daring  to 
point  his  bayonet  at  us. 

We  stopped,  but  the  horses,  now  driven 
to  a  panic  fear,  began  plunging  wildly 
from  side  to  side,  dragging  the  carriage 
with  them. 


82      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

"  Stop  I "  yelled  a  chorus  of  armed 
guards,  running  up  to  the  swaying  car- 
riage. 

But  the  horses  would  not  stop.  A 
roar  of  orders  issued  from  the  men  and 
some  of  them  made  a  rush  at  the  car- 
riage, with  their  clubs  raised,  while 
others  did  their  best  to  terrify  further 
the  already  panic-stricken  horses.  A 
one-sided  battle  ensued,  in  which  the 
guards  belabored  the  horses,  and  bat- 
tered the  carriage  with  peasant  stupid- 
ity, seeming  to  think  that  it,  too,  was 
responsible  for  the  disobedience  of  orders. 

"  What  do  you  want,  you  fools  ? " 
shouted  Piotr  vainly  through  the  deaf- 
ening tumult.  "  We're  Russians  !  " 

But  his  words  were  drowned  in  the 
yells  of  the  men,  to  which  was  now 
added  the  furious  barking  of  a  dozen 
fierce  village  dogs. 

"  Your  passports,"  yelled  the  attack- 
ing guards,  ignoring  the  fact  that  Piotr 
had  held  them  ready  for  several  minutes. 


THE  SCHOOL  TYRANT  83 

One  of  the  guards  came  forward  through 
the  struggling  mob,  when  unexpectedly 
there  was  a  sharp  crack,  and  the  carriage 
listed  to  one  side.  The  shaft  was  broken. 

A  sudden  silence  fell  over  the  whole 
crowd  when  it  became  apparent  that 
damage  had  been  done.  Arms  that  had 
been  brandished  were  dropped,  the  ring- 
leaders, who  had  been  so  domineering 
and  valiant  a  moment  before,  pulled  off 
their  caps  and  stood  shamefaced.  Like 
boisterous  children,  who  have  done  some- 
thing wrong,  they  hung  their  heads, 
silenced,  confused  and  back  to  the  tame 
obedience  of  the  servile  peasant  The 
man  with  the  bayonet  hastily  grabbed 
the  passports. 

"  We  didn't  know  who  you  were, 
Baritchi  (masters),"  he  said,  glancing 
guiltily  at  the  broken  shaft,  around 
which  a  few  of  the  men  had  gathered. 
11  We'll  see  what  we  can  do  to  fix  it  up 
for  you." 


CHAPTER  V 

SETTING  THE  SLAVES  FREE 

I  WAS  thirteen  years  old  when  the 
Great  Change  was  made  in  Russia.  Per- 
haps the  greatest  single  act  ever  ordered 
by  any  ruler  in  all  the  world's  history 
was  that  of  Tsar  Alexander  II  in  freeing 
the  serfs  in  1861.  Over  fifty  million 
serfs,  or  more  than  one-half  of  his  em- 
pire, he  released  from  bondage.  Thus, 
before  Abraham  Lincoln's  emancipation 
proclamation  was  made,  Russia  had  set 
her  slaves  free,  of  whom  more  than 
twelve  times  as  many  were  liberated  by 
one  imperial  ukase  or  order  as  were  made 
free  by  the  Civil  War. 

Serfdom  had  always  existed  vaguely  in 
Russia,  and  definitely  so  since  the  seven- 
teenth century.  Father  explained  to  me 
that  the  system  was  the  result  of  the  need 
84 


SETTING  THE  SLAVES  FEEE        85 

of  the  nobility  to  keep  laborers  on  their 
lands,  instead  of  allowing  them  to  wander 
from  place  to  place.  For  the  good  of  the 
country  it  was  advisable  that  the  land 
should  have  people  steadily  employed  in 
cultivating  it,  so  little  by  little  different 
Imperial  Ukases  or  edicts  granted  special 
privileges  to  the  nobility.  Father,  for 
example,  had  rights  of  life  and  death 
over  the  serfs  on  our  small  estate  of 
Lu  ka-Barskay  a. 

Alexander  II  not  only  set  the  serfs 
free,  but  he  also  bought  three  hundred 
and  fifty  million  acres  of  land  from  the 
landowners  and  turned  it  over  to  the 
villages,  giving  them  fifty  years  to  pay 
for  it.  The  peasants  found  it  hard  to 
understand  why  they  should  pay  for  land 
on  which  they  had  always  lived.  The 
freedom  manifesto  created  a  storm  of  dis- 
content, frequently  ending  in  riots.  Fi- 
nally the  question  of  settling  the  local 
difficulties  of  the  liberation  was  given 
into  the  hands  of  committees  of  nobles, 


86      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

organized  in  every  "  government,"  called 
the  Arbiters  of  Peace* 

Well  I  remember  the  noisy  meetings  of 
the  neighboring  nobles  in  our  house,  and 
the  endless  discussions  about  the  rights 
of  the  serfs. 

The  serfs  themselves  were  so  ignorant 
that  it  was  very  difficult  to  make  them 
understand  the  extent  of  their  freedom, 
and  the  fact  that  they  had  to  pay  for  the 
land  they  were  given.  It  was  that  which 
they  never  understood,  for  it  seemed  to 
them  that  since  they  had  always  lived  on 
it,  it  was  their  own.  I  remember  that 
Father  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  ex- 
plaining to  them  the  different  points  of 
the  edict,  while  they,  gathered  in  our 
courtyard,  asked  him  numerous  ques- 
tions. 

It  was  this  inability  to  understand  the 
Imperial  Ukase  which  led  to  trouble  and 
riots,  and  in  many  localities  the  situation 
became  very  serious.  On  the  estate  of 
Count  Kushelev-Bezborodko,  who  was 


SETTING  THE  SLAVES  FEEE        87 

our  neighbor,  these  disorders  among  the 
peasants  led  to  fearful  reprisals  on  the 
part  of  the  soldiers,  who  punished  se- 
verely the  leaders  of  the  riots. 

The  liberation  made  little  impression 
on  me,  because  we  had  no  trouble  at  all 
in  Luka-Barskaya.  We  only  heard  of  the 
riots  that  occurred  in  many  places,  often 
resulting  in  the  burning  of  barns  and 
other  needless  violence. 

The  Arbiters  of  Peace  came  to  Luka- 
Barskaya  and  found  but  little  to  do,  for 
the  serfs  trusted  Father.  Stern  and  silent 
though  he  was,  the  moujiks  knew  that  he 
had  always  been  a  just  master,  and  at 
this  critical  time  not  a  single  serf  on  our 
estate  showed  disloyalty. 

In  the  household  the  liberation  made 
little  outward  difference,  for,  by  the 
ukase,  the  domoviye,  or  house  serfs,  were 
obliged  to  serve  for  two  years  longer.  So, 
aside  from  the  fact  that  during  the  whole 
summer  the  courtyard  was  full  of  groups 
of  peasants  talking  noisily  together,  the 


88      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

freedom  of  the  serfs  affected  me  very 
slightly.  Little  did  I  know,  then,  that 
it  was  the  beginning  of  a  chain  of  events 
which  would  lead  me  into  hourly  peril 
and  a  hunted  life. 

How  serious  the  peasant  riots  had  been 
we  learned  when  Ivan  and  I  returned  to 
the  gymnasium  and  donned  again  the 
familiar  school  uniform. 

In  Russian  schools  the  wearing  of  uni- 
forms was  general.  We  had  a  dark-blue 
uniform,  with  scarlet  collars  and  bright 
brass  buttons,  and  a  cap  to  match.  In 
this  we  studied  and  played,  and  later, 
when  I  entered  the  University,  I  still  had 
the  uniform,  although  its  cut  was  differ- 
ent. We  were  allowed  to  wear  other 
clothing  indoors,  but  we  could  not  leave 
the  house  except  in  our  uniforms. 

In  spite  of  the  reforms  in  the  gymna- 
sium, the  conditions  were  still  hateful, 
and  these  were  made  worse  by  the  mar- 
riage of  Count  Pototzky's  daughter  to 
Count  Strogonov,  a  Russian,  who  was 


fr.   I 


\ 


II      I 


o 

H 


SETTING  THE  SLAVES  FEEE        89 

economical  to  stinginess.  He  abolished 
all  the  swings  and  nets,  which  had  been 
our  great  joy,  and  also  raised  the  rentals 
of  the  houses  in  Nemirov.  Gradually 
people  left  the  town,  for  its  old  charm 
was  gone,  and  as  time  passed  on,  the 
treatment  in  the  gymnasium  again  be- 
came coarse  and  humiliating.  Ivan  and 
Piotr  prevailed  upon  Father  to  allow 
them  to  be  transferred  to  the  gymnasium 
at  Kamanetz-Podolsk,  where  I  followed 
them  shortly  afterwards. 

There,  at  first,  conditions  were  more 
bearable.  As  it  unfortunately  chanced, 
however,  just  before  we  had  been  trans- 
ferred, a  serious  riot  around  the  school  had 
occurred,  during  which  the  boys  had 
fought  the  police,  and  two  men  with  a  rep- 
utation for  brutality  were  sent  for  the 
purpose  of  definitely  establishing  order  in 
the  gymnasium.  Sixty  of  the  culprits 
were  expelled,  which  was  a  frequent 
method  of  punishment,  and  we  were 
rigidly  watched.  Inspector  Tulub,  in  his 


90      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  KUSSIA 

search  for  dangerous  boys,  picked  out 
Ivan  as  an  "  undesirable/'  for  so  much 
did  he  talk  about  liberty  and  progress 
that  Tulub  felt  he  was  likely  to  be  a  fire- 
brand and  resent  authority. 

One  evening  Ivan  came  in  quite  ex- 
cited. 

"Volodia,"  he  said,  closing  my  bed- 
room door  tightly,  and  speaking  in  a 
whisper,  "do  you  know  what  I  saw? 
.  .  .  Tulub  sneaking  around  Dunav- 
sky's  house,  listening  at  his  window  and 
trying  to  peep  into  the  room.  .  .  . 
What  do  you  think  of  that  ? — It's  worse 
than  Nemirov.  I'll  let  him  know  what  I 
think  of  him  some  day  !  " 

Another  time  Tulub  raided  the  home 
of  one  of  our  comrades  in  the  hope  of 
finding  some  "  revolutionary  "  literature. 
Often  in  class  he  came  up  to  the  boys, 
saying  roughly  :  "  Arms  up,"  and  then 
he  went  through  their  pockets.  I  could 
never  even  imagine  what  it  was  he  hoped 
to  find,  for  at  that  time  I  did  not  know 


SETTING  THE  SLAVES  FEEE        91 

about  the  movement  toward  democracy 
that  became  known  as  Nihilism,  and  which 
was  already  vaguely  in  the  air  in  certain 
universities,  but  there  was  no  restraining 
Ivan  at  all  when  this  spying  began. 

"  It's  unjust,"  he  said  excitedly,  after 
one  of  these  searches.  "  What  right  has 
he  to  do  as  he  pleases  ?  I  won't  stand 
for  it !  It's  an  insult  1 " 

Ivan  was  not  only  older  than  I,  but  he 
was  old  for  his  years,  and  life  made  a 
deeper  impression  on  him  than  it  did  on 
me.  He  was  more  sensitive,  also,  so  at 
every  fresh  outrage  there  was  added  an- 
other spark  of  indignation.  He  took 
still  more  to  reading,  and  spent  all  his 
pocket  money  buying  books.  It  was  a 
year  before  his  graduation  that  he  showed 
me  one  evening  his  new  treasures — two 
sets  of  Belinsky  and  Dobroliubov,  both 
Russian  classics. 

"  Vania,  I'm  glad,"  I  said,  looking  at 
the  handsome  volumes ;  "  you've  wanted 
them  for  years." 


92      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed ;  "  won't  it  be  fun 
reading  them  out  loud  at  home  during 
vacations  ?  " 

"By  the  way,  Vania,"  I  continued, 
after  examining  the  books,  "  didn't  you 
have  a  row  with  Tulub  this  morning? 
One  of  the  boys  told  me  he  heard  some- 
thing about  it." 

"  It  wasn't  much,"  Ivan  answered. 
"  He's  looking  for  trouble — I  suppose 
he  doesn't  think  me  safe,  so  he  made 
some  remark  about  my  uniform  this 
morning.  I  told  him  he  didn't  know 
anything  about  it,  so  then  he  made  some 
more  remarks.  Well,  I  can  stand  a  good 
deal,  but  I  won't  tolerate  public  insult. 
...  I  told  him  exactly  what  I  thought 
of  him." 

I  wondered  just  what  Ivan  had  said, 
for  I  knew  that  he  was  utterly  reck- 
less once  his  pride  was  roused.  It  made 
me  uneasy.  Another  day  Tulub  made 
trouble  for  Ivan  because  he  wore  high 
boots,  to  which  he  took  exception. 


SETTING  THE  SLAVES  FEEE        93 

"  Don't  let  me  see  you  in  them  again/1 
he  bellowed  at  Ivan. 

"  I'll  wear  them  as  long  as  I  please," 
was  the  calm  reply. 

All  through  that  year  and  the  next — 
which  was  Ivan's  final  year  at  the  gym- 
nasium— this  system  of  persistent  nagging 
and  public  insult  continued.  It  did  not 
surprise  any  one,  accordingly,  that  the 
final  break  was  both  sudden  and  stormy. 

Unfortunately  Ivan  had  also  had 
trouble  with  the  governor  of  the  gov- 
ernment, Goremykin.  There  was  a  rule 
that  all  the  gymnasium  boys  must  take 
off  their  hats  upon  meeting  the  governor. 
One  day  Ivan  met  him  in  the  street  out- 
side the  town,  and  did  not  take  off  his 
hat,  whereupon  the  governor  stopped 
him  and  demanded  his  name. 

"  I  gave  him  my  name,"  said  Ivan  in 
telling  me  about  it,  "  although  I  don't 
see  why  he  was  so  touchy." 

Again  I  was  troubled,  for  I  had  heard 
that  Goremykin  was  petty  about  for- 


94      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

malities,  and  that  he  never  forgave  an 
affront. 

At  last  the  time  came  for  Ivan's  final 
examinations,  which  would  give  him  his 
diploma  for  entrance  to  the  University. 
He  was  so  clever,  and  had  made  so  bril- 
liant a  record  in  his  classes  that  I  never 
doubted  his  success,  and  I  awaited  the  de- 
tails of  the  examination  without  anxiety. 

But  the  unexpected  happened.  The 
oral  examination  was  held  before  the 
Pedagogical  Committee,  and  Inspector 
Tulub  was  in  charge  of  the  proceedings. 
As  soon  as  Ivan  entered  he  was  spotted 
by  Tulub,  who  felt  that  this  was  his  last 
chance  to  make  trouble. 

"You  haven't  shaved  this  morning/' 
he  shouted  angrily,  referring  to  the  slight 
down  on  Ivan's  face,  and  regardless  of 
the  fact  that  the  committee  was  present. 

Ivan's  outraged  sense  of  propriety  got 
the  best  of  his  temper. 

"It  is  stupid,"  he  answered  loudly, 
11  for  you  to  spend  your  time  examining 


SETTING  THE  SLAVES  FEEE        95 

the  cut  of  our  coats,  and  looking  to  see 
if  we  have  shaved  or  not — those  are  small 
things,  and  I  think  you  would  be  more 
useful  if  you  took  a  greater  interest  in 
our  mental  development." 

This  frank  speech  only  roused  Tulub, 
who  began  yelling  and  shouting  abuse  at 
Ivan  in  the  old-time  way,  without  any 
restraint  on  either  his  language  or  the 
pitch  of  his  voice. 

"  You  won't  get  your  diploma  I "  he 
finished  hoarsely. 

11 1  don't  care  a  rap  for  your  diploma," 
said  Ivan  angrily,  and  marched  out  of 
the  room. 

Then  the  storm  broke.  The  whole 
episode  was  taken  as  being  a  sign  of 
Ivan's  unstable  revolutionary  ideas.  The 
governor  remembered  his  own  unpleas- 
ant meeting  with  Ivan,  and  also  took  a 
hand  in  the  matter,  with  the  result  that 
for  about  four  days  Ivan  was  constantly 
and  persistently  dogged  by  spies,  who 
watched  his  every  movement. 


96      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

"  The  funniest  thing  about  this/'  said 
Ivan,  laughing,  after  he  had  come  in 
from  a  walk  to  the  bookstore,  "  is  the 
way  everybody  runs  when  they  catch 
sight  of  me.  Why,  Nemorsky  made  a 
dive  for  a  side  street  to-day,  so  as  to 
avoid  speaking  to  me."  I  knew  that  our 
friends  could  do  nothing  else.  Not  only 
did  they  fear  to  show  him  sympathy,  but 
they  were  even  afraid  of  admitting  friend- 
ship with  him,  as  it  would  have  harmed 
them,  and  done  him  no  good. 

"  I'm  avoided  as  if  I  had  the  plague,7' 
he  said  bitterly  one  evening,  in  telling 
me  of  his  experiences. 

The  school  authorities  and  the  gov- 
ernor went  into  the  details  of  the  whole 
incident,  and  it  was  several  days  before 
they  arrived  at  a  decision.  Finally  one 
day  a  carriage  drove  up  to  our  door 
for  the  purpose  of  taking  Ivan  home 
to  Luka-Barskaya.  A  gendarme  fully 
armed  was  one  of  the  party,  and  it  was 
his  duty  to  see  that  the  recalcitrant 


SETTING  THE  SLAVES  FEEE        97 

schoolboy  reach  his  home  without  any 
attempts  at  escape. 

This  incident  had  a  definite  influence 
on  me.  I  loved  Ivan  as  few  brothers 
love  a  brother,  and  the  fact  that  he  had 
been  unjustly  expelled  made  me  hate  the 
authorities  with  a  deep  and  bitter  hatred 
that  nothing  could  soften  or  eradicate. 
I  became  proud  of  the  fact  that  I  had  a 
brother  who  had  been  sent  home  under 
the  supervision  of  a  gendarme,  for  I  felt 
it  was  an  honor  to  be  at  war  with  those 
who  had  no  regard  for  our  dignity,  or 
any  interest  in  our  success.  It  was  then 
that  were  laid  the  first  seeds  of  that 
struggle  against  injustice  and  against  un- 
intelligent authority  which  was  to  change 
the  entire  course  of  my  life.  I  really 
left  careless  boyhood  behind  on  the  day 
that  Ivan  was  expelled. 


CHAPTER  VI 

CHOOSING   A  CAREER 

I  PASSED  my  final  examinations  and 
received  my  diploma  in  1866,  five  years 
after  the  freeing  of  the  serfs.  Immedi- 
ately the  problem  of  choosing  a  career 
in  life  faced  me,  for  the  estate  did  not 
provide  enough  means  for  us  three  boys. 
My  drive  home,  with  the  diploma  in 
my  possession,  was  a  triumphant  one. 
Everybody  was  waiting  for  me  in  the 
courtyard,  and  the  carriage  had  no  sooner 
entered  the  gates  than  I  shouted,  "I've 
passed,  hooray  !  " 

Mother  kissed  me  proudly,  and  I  was 
the  hero  for  several  days. 

Still  the  horror  of  my  schooldays  hung 
over  me  like  a  nightmare,  and  many 
times  did  I  wake  with  a  feeling  of  dread 
98 


CHOOSING  A  GAEEEE  99 

that  another  day  of  trouble  and  insult 
was  before  me.  Then,  with  a  start,  I 
remembered  that  I  was  at  home,  and  that 
my  gymnasium  days  were  over,  where- 
upon I  went  to  sleep  again  with  profound 
relief. 

That  autumn  I  became  a  student  in 
the  University  of  Kiev,  which  is  one  of 
the  best  in  all  Russia.  My  plans  for  the 
future  were  quite  vague,  so  I  entered  the 
Physico-Mathematical  faculty,  principally 
because  I  was  very  fond  of  mathematics. 
At  that  time  the  only  open  avenues  of 
work  to  a  man  of  rank  and  education 
were  the  army  and  government.  For 
the  former,  a  large  personal  income  was 
necessary  to  support  an  officer's  position 
and  the  routine  of  departmental  work 
did  not  appeal  to  me,  so  I  left  the 
final  decision  for  the  future,  and  mean- 
while studied  hard  and  did  a  great  deal 
of  reading.  Just  at  this  time  the  spirit  in 
the  University  was  very  dead  and  lacked 
vigor  and  enthusiasm.  Many  of  the 


100     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

more  active  students  had  participated  in 
the  Polish  Revolution  and  had  been  sent 
to  Siberia.  Those  who  had  remained, 
therefore,  were  the  less  advanced.  Dur- 
ing the  day  we  attended  our  lectures, 
and  at  night  we  either  read  or  joined 
small  student  societies  ;  the  athletic  side 
of  college — which  means  so  much  in 
America — was  absolutely  unknown  at 
the  University  of  Kiev  at  that  time. 
We  had  no  time  for  sports,  for  the  work 
to  be  done  was  more  than  three  times  as 
much  as  in  a  modern  American  college. 
I  had  not  lost  my  love  for  games,  how- 
ever, and  I  became  quite  an  expert  in 
both  chess  and  billiards. 

Most  of  the  students  were  poor,  for  their 
parents  were  only  moderately  well-to-do, 
and  they  had  to  train  for  a  profession ; 
whereas  the  sons  of  rich  families  remained 
landowners.  We  organized  a  mutual 
dining-room,  to  which  all  contributed. 
We  also  founded  a  mutual  aid  association, 
which  enabled  us  to  care  for  those  com- 


CHOOSING  A  CAREER  101 

rades  who  were  having  particular  diffi- 
culty in  struggling  along  through  college. 
Gradually  it  became  a  matter  of  pride  to 
be  poor,  and  those  students  who  had 
plenty  of  money  never  displayed  it,  for  it 
was  considered  bad  form.  We  thought 
it  a  sign  of  intelligence  for  a  student  to 
be  plainly  dressed,  and  to  live  simply. 
Those  who  were  dudes  were  despised,  and 
were  not  admitted  to  our  circles  and 
societies. 

At  the  time  I  did  not  realize  that  we 
were  adopting  a  new  attitude  in  this  de- 
termination to  live  the  simple  life.  It 
was  utterly  sincere,  and  it  taught  us  to 
share  equally,  it  gave  a  real  object  in  the 
vague  ideals  of  youth,  and,  in  my  case,  it 
laid  another  stone  in  the  wall  of  democ- 
racy, which  I  was  already  building. 

Three  of  my  fellow  students  and  I  lived 
in  a  big  room,  for  it  was  the  custom 
among  us  to  live  together  whenever  pos- 
sible. There  were  many  advantages  in 
this  arrangement,  for  not  only  did  it 


102     WEEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

make  our  expense  smaller,  but  it  made 
life  more  interesting  and  less  lonely. 

We  paid  eight  roubles  a  month  for  this 
room,  which  is  equivalent  to  about  four 
dollars.  Our  landlord,  Zimenko,  was  a 
good-natured  old  man,  whose  sole  duty 
was  to  light  the  samovar  for  us. 

We  started  a  small  library  of  our  own 
after  we  had  attended  to  the  more  impera- 
tive needs  of  our  student  body,  but  al- 
though this  was  never  more  than  a  name 
during  my  student  days,  it  proved  to  be 
a  turning  point.  All  our  books  together 
only  filled  six  shelves,  or  rather  plain 
boards,  which  had  been  nailed  against  the 
wall.  As  the  two  top  shelves  were  taken 
up  by  numerous  volumes  on  naval  strat- 
egy, donated  by  somebody  at  the  time  of 
our  opening,  there  was  little  room  left  for 
any  very  extensive  collection.  Moreover 
there  was  a  particularly  fine  library  at  the 
University,  which  was  at  the  entire  dis- 
posal of  all  the  students,  so  there  was  no 
real  need  for  our  own  six  shelves  of  books, 


CHOOSING  A  CAREER  103 

except  that  we  all  liked  the  feeling  that 
this  was  really  our  own  library. 

"Vladimir,"  said  Sergius,  my  room- 
mate, coming  in  one  evening  with  mys- 
tery written  all  over  him,  "  the  police  are 
watching  our  library.  They've  already 
got  Zimenko  under  their  thumb." 

This  was  serious  news.  It  was  clear 
that  the  authorities  suspected  us.  Since 
there  were  thousands  of  volumes  in  the  col- 
lege library,  why  should  we  have  books 
unless  they  were  of  a  forbidden  character, 
they  thought.  We  called  a  meeting  has- 
tily. Sergius,  who  was  of  a  cautious 
habit,  was  willing  to  give  up  the  library, 
but  the  rest  of  us,  young  and  full  of  fight, 
were  actually  glad  that  we  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  being  defiant.  As  for  me,  Ivan's 
expulsion  from  the  gymnasium  had  set- 
tled for  good  and  all  the  question  of  my 
relation  to  authority.  I  was  a  rebel 
against  injustice,  and  I  had  grown  to  hate 
spying. 

Our  library  had  no  revolutionary  works 


104     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  EUSSIA 

in  it,  but  we  felt  there  was  a  principle  in- 
volved. We  were  none  of  us  revolution- 
ists then,  we  were  loyal  Russians  with  a 
deep  love  for  our  own  country,  and  a  boy- 
ish belief  that  we  could  set  everything 
right.  This  was  still  during  the  early 
part  of  the  reign  of  Alexander  II,  the 
Tsar  who  had  freed  the  serfs,  and  we  felt 
that  the  spying  and  the  misunderstand- 
ings were  due  to  ignorant  officials,  not  to 
the  government.  To  ourselves,  in  a  hot- 
headed (and  as  I  now  see,  a  youthful  and 
immature)  way,  we  made  an  issue  of  that 
library,  and  even  those  out-of-date  and 
useless  books  on  naval  strategy  became 
priceless  possessions.  This  determination 
to  fight  for  a  principle  is  deeply  rooted  in 
Russian  character,  as  deeply  rooted  as  the 
desire  to  succeed  is  in  America.  So  the 
right  to  have  books  of  my  own  became  to 
me  as  a  banner  of  liberty  under  which  I 
was  willing  to  fight. 

The  idea  of  democracy  became  more 
and  more  real  to  us.    Since  we  were  ac- 


CHOOSING  A  CAEEEE  105 

cused  of  having  forbidden  books,  we 
might  as  well  have  them.  Books  that 
told  about  the  French  Revolution,  stories 
of  the  American  War  of  Independence, 
discussion  about  the  life  of  working  peo- 
ple, all  these  were  denied  us.  In  Russia, 
to-day,  there  is  no  such  censorship,  but 
this  was  at  a  time  when  the  country  was 
in  a  ferment.  We  got  those  books  smug- 
gled in  across  the  frontier,  and  largely 
because  they  were  forbidden  fruit,  we  de- 
voured them. 

Every  vacation  I  went  home  to  Luka- 
Barskaya,  where  I  spent  happy  weeks 
with  my  parents  and  Ivan,  who  lived 
at  home  for  several  years  after  being  ex- 
pelled from  the  gymnasium.  During  the 
day  I  used  to  wander  about  our  estate 
with  a  book  under  my  arm,  or,  fre- 
quently, I  would  take  my  gun,  and 
bring  home  game  for  the  table.  Ivan 
had  built  up  a  library  of  picked  books, 
so  after  supper,  seated  around  the  long 
oak  table,  he  read  aloud. 


106     WEEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

Thus,  during  those  quiet  evenings  of 
reading  and  discussion,  the  friendship 
between  Father,  Ivan,  and  myself  be- 
came one  of  the  most  vital  ties  in  my 
life. 

While  I  was  studying  mathematics, 
Ivan  spent  about  one  year  and  a  half 
studying  music  and  literature.  I  still 
have  a  book  of  Ivan's  poems.  He  went 
to  Warsaw  and  took  up  music  at  the 
Conservatory,  and  after  remaining  there 
a  year,  he  transferred  to  Petrograd,  where 
he  continued  his  musical  education. 
While  he  was  studying  he  became  in- 
terested in  a  model  cheese  factory,  which 
had  been  organized  on  special  lines.  This 
appealed  to  him  as  being  feasible  for  our 
own  estate,  and  he  returned  home  to  start 
something  similar  in  Luka-Barskaya. 

The  first  problem  was  the  organization 
of  a  model  farm,  and  he  began  with  the 
intensive  cultivation  of  a  stretch  of  about 
fifty  dessiatin,  or  one  hundred  and  twelve 
acres,  which  was  the  nucleus  of  the  tilled 


CHOOSING  A  CAEEER  107 

portion  of  the  estate.  His  plan  was  to 
help  the  ignorant  moujiks  by  showing 
them  modern  methods  of  agriculture. 

I  spent  my  next  vacations  working 
with  Ivan,  and  incidentally  learning  a 
great  deal  about  the  life  of  the  people. 
I  had  always  imagined  that  the  moujik, 
being  accustomed  to  hard  labor,  did  not 
feel  physical  exhaustion,  as  did  we  who 
were  unused  to  physical  work. 

"  Volodia,"  Ivan  said,  shaking  me  out 
of  my  sleep  before  sunrise  during  the 
summer  vacations,  "  are  you  going  with 
me  to  haymaking  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "I'll  be  with  you 
in  a  few  minutes." 

As  the  early  morning  sun  rose,  we 
were  on  the  field,  together  with  the 
peasants,  each  with  his  scythe,  one  a 
certain  distance  back  of  the  other.  At 
a  signal  everybody  began  work,  and  we 
had  to  keep  together.  Although  I  was 
very  strong  physically,  a  few  hours  of 
this  work  soon  exhausted  me.  At  the 


108     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

end  of  the  day  I  was  nearly  dead,  and 
realized  that  an  overplus  of  physical 
work  absolutely  prohibited  mental  ad- 
vancement. 

Unfortunately  Ivan's  attempt  failed 
because  the  people  themselves  were  too 
ignorant  to  support  him,  and  also  be- 
cause he  did  not  have  enough  money 
with  which  to  equip  the  undertaking. 
Indeed  it  would  have  required  years  of 
patient  education  to  teach  the  moujiks  a 
system  new  to  all  their  traditions,  so  our 
estate  continued  to  be  worked  as  it  had 
been  worked  for  many  centuries,  and 
Ivan's  versatile  mind  turned  to  the  ques- 
tion of  organizing  a  colony,  where  he 
could  carry  out  his  ideals.  Later,  this 
crystallized  into  a  plan  for  establishing 
this  colony  in  America  and  Ivan  joined 
me  in  Kiev  to  gather  members  for  his 
project.  This  plan  fell  through,  as  none 
of  the  members  would  leave  Russia. 

Meanwhile,  in  my  desire  to  help  the 
peasantry,  I  realized  that  I  could  do 


CHOOSING  A  GAEEEE  109 

little  for  them  by  my  study  of  mathe- 
matics, so  in  1869,  three  years  after  en- 
tering the  University,  I  changed  my 
faculty  and  began  the  study  of  medi- 
cine, knowing  that  there  was  a  great 
need  of  doctors  among  the  ignorant  peas- 
antry. Our  student  body  had  received  a 
strong  impetus  toward  the  organization 
of  literary  clubs  by  the  arrival  of  a  num- 
ber of  medical  students,  who  had  been 
expelled  from  the  Medical  Academy  in 
Petrograd. 

Our  new  literary  organizations  multi- 
plied so  rapidly  that  it  took  up  much  of 
our  time  to  attend  the  meetings.  We  all 
had  our  pet  ideas,  and  spent  much  time 
trying  to  convince  each  other.  Many  of 
the  ideas  were  absurd,  all  were  extreme, 
but  they  were  honest  and  sincere.  The 
university  students  believed  themselves 
almost  the  prophets  of  a  new  age,  and 
many  of  them  laid  down  their  lives  be- 
cause of  their  eagerness  to  make  the  world 
better  for  the  downtrodden  moujik.  It 


110     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

was  folly,  of  course,  but  it  was  a  splendid 
folly,  and  those  college  boys  thought  like 
heroes  and  lived  and  died  like  heroes. 

I  was  as  much  of  a  fanatic  as  any  of 
them,  and  my  pet  theory  was  that 
physical  labor  was  the  only  true  kind  of 
work,  and  that  if  every  one  would  live 
simply  and  work  with  his  hands,  all  the 
evils  that  come  from  too  great  wealth 
and  from  poverty  would  cease.  We  were 
fanatical,  just  as  the  Crusaders  were 
fanatical.  No  one  could  advise  us,  for 
we  would  not  listen  to  more  cautious 
men.  We  thought  them  cowards  to  re- 
fuse to  join  our  plans,  and  did  not  trust 
them  with  our  secrets. 

Believing  as  I  did,  I  determined  to 
live  up  to  my  ideas.  I  gave  up  my 
university  course,  though  I  had  spent  six 
years  there,  three  in  the  mathematics 
faculty,  and  three  in  medicine,  declaring 
that  there  would  be  no  college  faculty 
degrees  in  the  new  age  when  labor  would 
be  all  in  all,  and  began  my  work  of  lead- 


CHOOSING  A  GAEEEE  111 

ing  the  peasants  to  higher  and  better 
things  than  their  hard-working  lot. 
Meantime,  I  learned  shoemaking  as  a 
trade,  that  I  might  truly  practise  what  I 
preached. 

I  was  never  happier  than  then.  It 
was  a  time  of  wonder,  of  serene  ideals 
and  of  close  comradeship  with  others 
who  only  wished  to  help  their  fellow  men. 
Our  plans  were  little  more  than  dreams, 
then,  they  were  so  vague  and  impracti- 
cable, but  no  Knights  of  the  Round  Table 
ever  bore  more  nobly  "  the  flower  of  a 
blameless  life  "  than  my  fellow  idealists 
of  the  University  of  Kiev. 

Setting  aside  our  rank  as  nobles,  fore- 
going every  privilege,  spending  only  the 
money  we  earned,  the  university  students 
of  that  time  sacrificed  everything  to  this 
cause.  A  trip  that  I  made  to  Switzerland, 
in  company  with  Donetzky  and  a  few 
student  friends,  crystallized  my  ideas,  and 
I  returned  a  revolutionist  in  the  true 
sense  of  the  word.  Looking  back  now,  I 


112     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  BUSSIA 

can  hardly  understand  how  we  expected 
to  sway  all  Bussia  set  against  us,  small 
handful  as  we  were.  Yes,  it  was  a  dream 
that  we  could  wipe  out  all  class  barriers, 
and  make  the  world  anew,  a  dream  that 
may  yet  come  true,  but  never,  never  in 
my  time.  Every  boy  dreams  that  way,  a 
little ;  we  tried  to  make  the  dream  come 
true  immediately. 

Less  than  two  months  after  my  return 
from  Switzerland  the  threatening  storm 
broke  over  my  head.  I  had  been  active 
among  our  peasants  at  Luka-Barskaya, 
stirring  them  up  to  a  belief  that  in  some 
way  they  were  being  robbed  of  their 
rights  of  "  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of 
happiness."  I  had  then  gone  so  far  that 
I  was  preparing  to  organize  the  peasants 
into  a  revolutionary  army.  I  smile  now 
at  our  quixotic  attempts,  we  were  so  few 
and  Russia  so  immense.  But  the  day 
had  come  whereupon  I  smiled  no  more. 
The  iron  hand  of  power  was  already 
knocking  on  the  gate. 


CHOOSING  A  CAREER  113 

Donetzky,  who  had  remained  abroad 
after  I  had  returned  home,  wrote  to  me 
that  he  was  on  his  way  back  to  Russia, 
and  that  he  would  come  for  a  few  days  to 
stay  with  us  at  Luka-Barskaya. 

The  shortest  cut  was  along  the  railroad 
line,  which  he  followed,  although  it  was 
against  the  law.  Misfortune  tracked  him, 
for  he  encountered  a  gang  of  workmen  in 
charge  of  a  foreman,  who  threatened  him 
with  arrest.  Knowing  what  was  in  the 
package  he  carried,  Donetzky  did  not  dare 
to  risk  arrest  and  search.  There  was  only 
one  thing  to  do,  and  that  was  to  run.  He 
started,  and  would  have  escaped  easily, 
but  that  he  tripped  on  a  railroad  tie  and 
hurt  his  foot.  He  was  caught  and  taken 
to  the  nearest  police  station. 

By  an  evil  chance,  at  a  place  near  his 
attempted  escape,  a  murder  had  just  been 
committed,  so  Donetzky,  being  a  stranger, 
was  questioned  very  closely,  and  his 
package  was  opened.  It  contained  a 
number  of  printed  leaflets,  addressed  to 


114     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

"  Russian  Revolutionists."  The  mere 
possession  of  these  was  a  crime  in  Russia. 

"  I've  come  from  abroad,"  explained 
Donetzky,  "  but  I  ran  short  of  money,  so 
I  was  walking  to  Moscow." 

His  suit-case,  left  at  the  station,  was 
brought  in,  and  when  it  was  opened  it 
was  found  to  contain  hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds of  the  revolutionary  leaflets,  as  well 
as  a  number  of  books. 

On  the  fly-leaf  of  one  of  them  was 
written  my  name. 

All  this  had  happened  about  eight 
versts  (five  and  a  half  miles)  from  home, 
so  I  knew  nothing  about  it. 

That  night,  about  three  A.  M.,  I  was 
awakened  by  a  light  in  my  room.  I 
opened  my  eyes.  Before  me  stood  Father 
with  a  lighted  candle,  and  just  behind 
him  stood  the  commissary  of  rural  police 
and  a  gendarme. 

"Vladimir  De  Bogory  Mokrievitch," 
said  the  commissary,  "  a  government 
criminal,  Donetzky,  was  caught  to-day, 


CHOOSING  A  CAEEEE  115 

and  we  have  evidence  against  you.  We 
must  search  the  house." 

"  Certainly,"  I  responded  calmly. 

But  through  my  mind  rushed  a  bevy 
of  questions.  I  wondered  if  there  were 
any  forbidden  pamphlets  in  the  house. 
Fortunately  Ivan  and  Mother  were  not 
at  home. 

Nothing  was  found,  so  we  all  gathered 
at  daybreak  around  the  long  oak  table, 
where,  with  a  steaming  samovar,  tea  was 
served  during  a  drawing-up  of  the  pa- 
pers, which  I  had  to  sign.  The  commis- 
sary, under  the  influence  of  the  tea,  be- 
came communicative,  and  told  me  the 
details  of  Donetzky's  arrest.  I  immedi- 
ately realized  that  his  crime  was  a  serious 
one  in  the  eyes  of  the  Russian  police, 
and  that  it  was  an  oversight  on  the  part 
of  the  commissary  not  to  have  arrested 
me  at  once,  for  mere  acquaintance  with 
Donetzky,  under  such  circumstances, 
would  have  been  considered  sufficient 
cause  for  arrest.  It  was  morning  before 


116     WHEN  I  WAS  A  EOT  IN  RUSSIA 

the  police  left  our  house,  and  then  I  de- 
cided to  vanish. 

"  I'm  certain  that  the  authorities  will 
rectify  the  commissary's  slip/'  I  said  to 
Father,  "  and  then  they'll  arrest  me.  I 
must  get  away." 

I  spent  that  day  in  nervous  apprehen- 
sion, for  I  could  not  escape  in  the  day- 
time, as  I  feared  the  peasants  might 
have  been  instructed  to  watch  my  move- 
ments, so  I  postponed  my  flight  till 
dark. 

That  night,  after  ten  o'clock,  I  left  the 
home  of  my  childhood  and  was  driven 
to  a  distant  railroad  station  by  our  trusted 
coachman,  Stepan,  where  I  took  a  train 
to  Kiev.  Two  days  later  the  gendarmes 
descended  upon  Luka-Barskaya.  I  was 
gone.  No  one  knew  where  I  was.  A  se- 
cret order  for  my  arrest  was  sent  broad- 
cast, and  I  became  a  fugitive.  I  could 
never  again  use  my  own  passport.  I  could 
not  appear  anywhere  without  forged 
documents,  but  had  to  live  with  friends 


CHOOSING  A  GAEEEE  117 

who  could  secrete  me  even  from  the  jan- 
itor, sometimes  from  their  own  servants. 

I  was  an  "  illegal."     I  had  become  one 
of  the  hunted. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  THUNDERBOLT  OF  TERRORISM 

ALTHOUGH  Donetzky's  only  crime  had 
been  that  pamphlets  dealing  with  the 
life-conditions  of  the  peasants  and  similar 
so-called  "  revolutionary  "  writings  were 
found  in  his  possession,  he  was  taken  to 
Petrograd  and  condemned  to  five  years' 
imprisonment  with  hard  labor.  Ill-treat- 
ment in  the  jail  drove  him  insane,  and 
he  was  then  sentenced  to  exile  in  Siberia, 
where  he  died. 

There  were  so  many  of  those  young, 
gallant  college  boys,  the  manner  of  whose 
death  was  tragic  in  its  loneliness  I 

The  "  revolution  "  at  this  time  was  a 
very  simple  affair.  The  government 
would  not  allow  us  to  read  any  books 
except  those  which  had  been  read  and 
approved  by  the  ignorant  local  police. 
118 


A  TEEEOEIST  THUNDERBOLT     119 

The  government  would  not  allow  any 
criticism  of  any  official.  The  govern- 
ment would  not  allow  a  noble  to  live 
otherwise  than  as  a  noble,  or  a  peasant  as 
a  peasant.  To  read  a  forbidden  book  was 
"  revolution/'  to  talk  to  a  suspected  per- 
son was  "  revolution/7  to  speak  critically 
of  the  Tsar  or  any  official  was  "  revolu- 
tion/7 and  punishable  with  Siberia,  to 
suggest  that  there  should  be  public 
schools  was  "  revolution/7  for  a  noble  to 
enter  a  peasant's  house  and  wear  peas- 
ant's clothes  was  "revolution/7  and  at 
every  point  were  police  spies,  and  the 
dark  cloud  of  suspicion  hung  over  the 
land.  We  believed  in  our  "  Holy  Rus- 
sia/7 and  tried  to  work  for  a  brighter 
day.  Therein  lay  our  "  crime.77 

With  my  return  to  Kiev  I  definitely 
began  my  work  of  stirring  up  a  revolu- 
tion among  the  working  people.  I  still 
was  full  of  my  idea  that  brain  work  was 
wrong  and  physical  labor  right,  and  since 
we  students  already  had  a  few  friends 


120      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

among  some  of  the  men  working  in  a 
carpenter  shop,  I  went  to  work  in  the 
shop  as  a  journeyman.  Gradually  I 
acquired  skill.  I  lived  at  first  in  the 
"  Kiev  Commune,"  which  was  really  a 
revolutionary  headquarters  to  which  all 
those  nobles  who  were  toiling  among  the 
working  people  went  when  they  were  in 
town,  and  remained  there  either  a  day  or 
a  month,  according  to  their  need.  It  was 
a  wonderful  home  for  us,  homeless  and 
often  persecuted  as  we  were,  and  the  only 
question  which  was  asked  before  admis- 
sion was  : 

"  Are  you  willing  to  go  among  the 
peasants  immediately  ?  " 

If  the  answer  was  :  "  Yes,  I'm  willing," 
"  Then  you  are  one  of  us,"  came  the  in- 
evitable reply. 

The  questions  of  what  was  to  be  done 
among  the  people,  or  why  one  wished  to 
do  so,  were  not  asked. 

A  few  weeks  after  my  arrival,  when  I 
had  my  position  in  the  shop,  I  went  to 


A  TEEEOEIST  THUNDERBOLT     121 

live  in  a  small  and  unsavory  room  in  the 
poorest  part  of  Kiev.  There  was  really 
no  reason  why  we  should  give  up  all  our 
comforts  and  privileges,  but  this  desire  for 
poverty  was  a  part  of  the  movement  and 
every  one  was  eager  for  the  sacrifice.  It 
produced  marvelous  types,  this  vast 
struggle  for  an  ideal,  and  attracted  many 
men  who  were  noted  for  their  brilliance 
of  mind.  Sergius  Kovalik  was  one  of  the 
most  versatile  of  this  band  of  enthusiasts. 

He  gave  his  entire  energies  to  organiz- 
ing revolutionary  societies  among  young 
people  in  the  different  towns,  and  finally 
gathered  around  him  quite  a  group  of 
young  enthusiasts.  They  all  went  to  the 
River  Volga  region,  where  they  started  an 
effective  movement  against  the  govern- 
ment. 

In  this  Kovalik  was  helped  by  several 
other  famous  revolutionaries,  one  of 
whom,  Voinaralsky,  having  means  of  his 
own,  was  particularly  helpful.  They 
organized  trade  training  schools  in  which 


122     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

the  revolutionaries,  most  of  whom  were 
nobles,  learned  some  trade  preparatory  to 
going  out  among  the  peasants.  They 
kept  secret  headquarters,  where  revolu- 
tionists could  hide  in  safety  when  too 
closely  pursued  by  the  police.  Finally, 
Voinaralsky  went  among  the  peasants, 
and  openly  called  them  to  rise  against 
the  government  and  demand  their  rights. 
He  was  so  clever  and  so  evasive  that  he  be- 
came almost  a  legend,  and  the  whole  net- 
work of  the  Russian  Police  system  could 
not  hold  him  in.  But  at  last,  years 
later,  he  and  his  companions  were  caught 
by  the  police  and  sentenced  heavily  as 
the  fomenters  of  a  conspiracy  against 
the  government.  By  that  time  the 
revolution  was  becoming  an  organized 
movement.  But,  as  I  have  said,  this  was 
years  later. 

One  evening,  even  before  Kovalik  had 
gone  to  the  Volga,  I  came  for  a  few  hours' 
chat  at  the  Commune,  and,  as  it  was  late, 
I  remained  there  over  night,  sleeping  in 


A  TERRORIST  THUNDERBOLT     123 

the  kitchen.  I  was  awakened  in  the 
Corning  by  somebody  shaking  me,  and 
whispering  rapidly  : 

"  Quick,  get  up  I  The  gendarmes  are 
searching  here  I  " 

It  was  fortunate  for  me  that  they  had 
begun  with  the  other  rooms,  but  still  I 
could  not  leave  the  apartment  without 
passing  the  police  at  the  door. 

A  sudden  inspiration  came  to  me.  I 
was  dressed  like  a  working  man,  and  in 
the  mornings  it  was  usual  for  water-car- 
riers to  bring  drinking  water  to  the 
houses.  I  quickly  picked  up  an  empty 
pail  that  was  standing  in  the  kitchen 
and  calmly  walked  out  of  the  apartment 
past  the  police.  They  only  glanced  at 
me,  for  the  search  was  being  made  among 
students,  and  I  was  dressed  as  a  water- 
carrier.  As  I  passed  them,  I  took  off  my 
hat  with  a  frightened  peasant  air.  A 
year  later  such  a  simple  escape  would 
not  have  been  possible,  but  the  police 
still  had  to  learn  their  lesson. 


124     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

After  some  months'  resultless  work 
among  the  carpenters,  we  opened  a  shoe- 
making  place,  where  we  made  our  own 
shoes.  Kovalik  and  I  started  it,  and  I 
was  the  head  workman,  for  I  knew  some- 
thing about  the  making  of  shoes.  Many 
of  the  revolutionists  came  to  us  to  learn 
the  trade.  But  few  of  us  had  money, 
and  we  thought  it  necessary  to  earn  our 
living.  Accordingly,  one  of  the  men 
went  to  the  market  with  the  product 
of  our  little  industry. 

"  Shoes  like  that  were  made  in  the 
time  of  Peter  the  Great ! "  shouted  one 
customer  to  whom  he  offered  them. 

After  that  we  none  of  us  dared  to  try 
to  sell  them.  The  workmanship  of  the 
shoes  would  have  betrayed  us,  and  since 
the  police  were  looking  for  me,  and 
Kovalik  was  also  anxious  to  avoid  any 
questions,  we  had  to  give  up  our  shoe- 
making. 

Our  next  plan  was  that  we  should  go 
among  the  peasants  for  the  purpose  of 


A  TEEROEIST  THUNDERBOLT     125 

organizing  small  revolutionary  upris- 
ings. 

We  still  held  the  mistaken  idea  that 
the  peasants  were  discontented  with  their 
lot  and  anxious  to  revolt  for  better  con- 
ditions. Why  none  of  us  saw  the  fallacy 
of  this  idea  I  do  not  know,  unless  it  was 
that  we  saw  only  what  we  wanted  to  see. 

One  of  our  comrades,  Vassia,  said  he 
knew  something  about  dyeing,  so  five  of 
us  dressed  up  as  dyers  and  started  walk- 
ing through  the  villages.  Again  we  had 
made  a  mistake.  We  believed  that  the 
peasants  were  suspicious  of  a  man  dressed 
as  a  gentleman,  or  in  the  clothing  of  the 
privileged  classes,  as  we  phrased  it,  so 
we  had  obtained  torn  and  shabby  clothes. 
Consequently  peasants  regarded  us  with 
suspicion.  We  passed  several  nights  with- 
out any  shelter.  It  was  the  rainy  season, 
and  I  often  woke  up  soaked  through  to 
the  skin,  cold  and  miserable.  Vassia 
boiled  the  dye,  and  one  of  us  looked 
for  orders,  of  which  we  never  got  any, 


126     WHEN  I  WAS  A  EOT  IN  EUSSIA 

for  the  peasants  attended  to  the  dyeing 
themselves.  We  ate  bread  and  fat  for 
our  only  diet.  It  was  truly  beyond  en- 
durance. Three  of  our  companions  gave 
up  from  exhaustion,  and  only  Stefano- 
vich  and  I  remained  steadfast  to  the  idea. 

My  next  attempt  to  go  among  the 
peasants  took  me  to  a  railroad  construc- 
tion camp,  where  I  worked  for  some 
time,  several  other  nobles  also  being  at 
work  there  in  disguise.  The  famous 
Katherine  Breshkovsky  at  this  time  was 
also  wandering  among  the  peasants.  She 
was  finally  tracked  by  spies,  and  sent  to 
jail,  where  she  refused  to  tell  her  right 
name,  or  to  give  any  information. 

Upon  my  return  to  Kiev  I  found 
feverish  excitement.  Spies  were  watch- 
ing everybody  known  to  the  police.  The 
situation  finally  became  so  acute  that  I 
decided  to  escape  abroad,  but  even  this 
was  not  such  a  simple  matter,  for  all  the 
Kiev  stations  were  swarming  with  spies, 
many  of  whom  knew  me  by  sight.  I 


A  TEEEOEIST  THUNDEEBOLT     127 

found  a  gorgeous  disguise  as  a  workman. 
I  had  a  bright  red  shirt,  with  the  ends 
outside  the  trousers,  and  a  belt,  and  high 
boots  reaching  my  knees.  In  this  cos- 
tume I  left  Kiev  on  foot  to  take  a  train 
from  a  neighboring  town,  and  so  avoid 
all  the  spies.  I  succeeded  and  was  safe 
for  several  months. 

Nevertheless,  Father  and  Mother  were 
constantly  harassed,  for  I  was  being 
sought  for  persistently  and  without  rest. 
For  years  the  watch  was  never  lifted 
from  my  old  home,  and  the  police  went 
there  frequently.  My  parents,  now  old, 
had  to  sign  a  paper  in  which  they  agreed 
never  to  leave  Luka-Barskaya. 

I  came  back  again  to  Kiev,  but  it  was 
a  desolate  return.  Over  one  thousand 
revolutionists  had  been  arrested,  many 
of  them  our  best  men  and  women,  and 
it  was  only  chance  that  the  few  of  us 
who  remained  were  still  free. 

Stefanovich  and  I  finally  decided  to 
start  a  revolutionary  movement  in  the 


128      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

Government  of  Kiev.  We  selected  as 
our  trade  the  selling  of  tin  articles,  and 
kept  a  horse  and  wagon.  But  we  had  no 
money,  and  although  we  sold  our  goods, 
they  hardly  covered  the  cost  of  keeping 
the  horse,  which  ate  us  out  of  house  and 
home.  Gradually  others  joined  our  small 
beginning.  It  developed  later  into  a  true 
revolutionary  rising. 

Meanwhile,  I  started  a  new  centre 
among  the  peasants,  and  this  time  I 
changed  the  old  tactics.  Instead  of 
wearing  old  and  ragged  clothing,  I 
dressed  well,  and  instead  of  getting 
false  peasant  passports,  I  lived  with 
one  taken  from  a  relative  of  mine  who 
had  died.  I  found  that  the  peasants 
were  much  more  anxious  to  listen  to 
me  when  they  knew  that  I  was  edu- 
cated and  a  noble,  and  I  realized  that 
all  these  years  had  been  vainly  spent, 
and  hundreds  of  gallant  young  men  and 
heroic  women  had  gone  to  Siberia  over  a 
false  and  mistaken  policy,  yet  our  ideals 


CURFEW  IK  A  RUSSIAN  VILLAGE  NEAR  THE  CITY  OF  KIEV. 


A  TEEEOEIST  THUNDERBOLT     129 

held  true.  Then  the  work  of  organizing 
riots  began.  One  of  our  problems  was 
the  arming  of  the  peasants,  and  another 
the  purchase  abroad  of  a  printing-press 
and  smuggling  it  into  Russia. 

We  only  had  thirty  old  revolvers,  and 
our  next  difficulty  was  the  obtaining  of 
money  for  the  buying  of  arms.  In  our 
fanaticism  it  seemed  simple.  But,  with- 
out our  knowledge,  a  spy  had  penetrated 
into  our  organization.  Some  of  us  tried 
to  kill  him,  but  failed.  This  led  to  his 
giving  out  of  a  vast  amount  of  informa- 
tion, and,  as  he  knew  our  headquarters 
and  all  our  work,  at  a  moment's  notice 
we  had  to  scatter  broadcast. 

To  a  forest  outside  Kharkov,  as  ap- 
pointed, the  dispersed  members  grad- 
ually made  their  way.  By  marvellous 
good  fortune  every  one  of  us  had  es- 
caped the  clutches  of  the  spies  and  the 
gendarmes,  and  we  met  in  full  numbers 
at  the  secret  place. 

I  remember  few  things  sadder  in  my 


130     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  EUSSIA 

life  than  that  meeting.  It  remains  in 
my  memory  as  the  burying  ground  of 
our  illusions.  There,  with  the  flush  of 
excitement  worn  away,  we  looked  at 
each  other  and  at  the  ruins  of  our 
work.  Some  spoke  eagerly  of  begin- 
ning anew,  but  many  of  the  others 
showed  not  only  that  they  had  lost 
heart,  but  that  they  had  also  lost  faith. 
Most  of  us  had  discovered  the  fallacy  of 
thinking  that  the  moujiks  were  anxious 
for  a  revolution,  and  we  realized  that  it 
was  necessary  to  organize  the  reform  of 
Russia  by  different  methods. 

Referring  to  our  failure,  Ivan  said  to 
me  one  day : 

"We  have  failed  because"  we  were  too 
far  removed  from  the  people.  The  gulf 
between  the  nobles  and  the  peasant 
masses  cannot  be  bridged  by  a  mere 
change  of  clothing  and  passports." 

Heavy-hearted,  many  of  us  shattered 
in  health,  shorn  of  the  dreams  that  had 
glorified  our  sufferings,  we  revolutionists 


A  TEEEOEIST  THUNDEEBOLT     131 

went  away  from  Kharkov.  Broken  men 
and  women,  most  of  us  with  nowhere  to 
go,  for  none  could  return  to  homes,  and 
still  and  forever  to  be  hiding  as  "sus- 
pects," and  all  young,  so  young ! 

While  most  of  us  were  trying  to  find 
some  way  to  earn  a  living  under  forged 
passports,  the  resolute  three,  Stefan- 
ovich,  Deutsch,  and  Bokhanovsky  were 
really  organizing  a  small  revolution,  and 
they  used  as  headquarters  a  flat  in  a 
small  house  on  the  outskirts  of  Kiev, 
where  we  also  kept  our  secret  printing- 
prefcs,  on  which  we  printed  revolutionary 
pamphlets.  Through  one  of  the  peas- 
ants, who  was  caught,  the  three  were 
betrayed,  and  all  were  arrested.  Bokhan- 
ovsky had  the  key  to  our  rooms,  and  this 
was  confiscated,  but  since  he  would  not 
give  the  address,  there  was  no  danger  of 
discovery  for  some  time.  Still,  the  police 
began  scouring  Kiev  in  the  effort  to  locate 
the  lock  into  which  this  key  fitted.  As 
this  flat  was  a  revolutionary  headquar- 


132     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

ters,  its  location  was  not  generally 
known,  and  aside  from  the  men  in  prison, 
I  was  the  only  person  who  knew  of  it.  It 
was  necessary  to  clear  the  house  of  the 
press  and  any  compromising  papers.  Al- 
though I  was  in  Odessa  at  this  time,  I 
came  immediately.  Our  main  difficulty 
was  getting  in,  for  we  had  no  key. 

For  several  days  we  discussed  plans 
for  getting  out  the  large  printing-press. 
We  even  found  three  burglars  who  were 
willing  to  rob  the  house  and  get  the 
things  out,  but  on  the  night  set  for  the 
attempt,  the  police  must  have  suspected 
something,  for  they  started  whistling,  so 
that  we  all  had  to  run  for  our  lives. 
Then  we  sent  a  locksmith,  who  made  an- 
other key,  and  one  of  the  revolutionists 
came  to  the  landlady  and  told  her  that 
he  was  a  relative  of  Bokhanovsky,  who 
had  allowed  him  to  enter  the  rooms  and 
live  there.  He  had  the  key  to  prove  the 
truth  of  the  story.  We  had  the  place 
cleared  in  forty-eight  hours  and  a  few 


A  TEEEOEIST  THUNDERBOLT     133 

days  after  that  the  police  located  the 
house,  but  there  was  nothing  in  the 
rooms.  The  gendarmes  realized  that  the 
place  had  been  cleaned  out,  and  began 
looking  for  those  who  had  done  it.  We 
all  scattered. 

The  arrest  of  these  three  of  my  com- 
rades after  the  secret  conclave  in  the 
forest  outside  Kharkov  marks  the  close 
of  the  first  period  of  the  revolution,  the 
time  when  we  believed  that  all  we  had  to 
do  was  to  make  the  peasants  understand 
that  we  were  ready  to  lead  them  into  a 
newer  liberty  and  a  life  of  greater  happi- 
ness. All  this  was  the  work  of  a  hand- 
ful of  university  students,  full  of  the 
mad  enthusiasms  of  youth,  and  striving 
to  rid  the  country  of  the  chains  of  an 
old  tradition. 

Then  came  an  even  deeper  and  more 
tragic  note.  A  tall,  fair  young  fellow, 
always  exceedingly  well-dressed,  moody, 
but  as  lively  as  quicksilver,  and  the  very 
flush  of  energy,  came  to  Kiev.  This  was 


134     WHEN  I  WAS  A  SOY  IN  RUSSIA 

Valerian  Ossinsky.  He  reawakened 
much  of  the  old  enthusiasm,  for  he  had 
the  talent  for  organization  and  he  had  a 
plan.  Political  freedom  for  every  one  he 
craved,  but — this  was  a  fearful  "  but  " — 
he  believed  that  the  government  should 
be  frightened  into  granting  it.  And  this 
fear  should  be  created,  not  by  a  revolution 
that  attacked  a  system,  but  by  the  selec- 
tion and  killing  of  those  brutal  officials, 
who  had  become  tyrants  of  oppression. 
They  should  know  terror  for  themselves. 
Sleeping  or  waking,  at  home  or  abroad, 
the  shadow  of  death  should  lie  over  them, 
and  the  grisly  spectre  of  Terror  should 
never  leave  them. 

Thus  Terrorism  began. 

Ossinsky's  immediate  concern  in  Kiev 
was  the  organization  of  an  escape  for 
our  three  comrades,  Stefanovich,  Deutsch 
and  Bokhanovsky.  We  were  all  helping, 
and  the  first  thing  we  did  was  to  bribe  a 
keeper,  so  that  we  could  safely  exchange 
letters  with  the  imprisoned  men.  We 


A  TEEEOEIST  THUNDEEBOLT     135 

were  fearfully  concerned  about  them, 
because  they  had  actually  organized 
secret  fighting  groups  among  the  peas- 
ants, and  these  had  been  discovered  by 
the  police. 

I  was  living  with  two  comrades  in  a 
small  apartment  at  this  time,  and  it  was 
here  that  Ossinsky  came  with  the  letters 
from  the  prisoners.  We  discussed  numer- 
ous plans  of  escape  until  we  finally  set- 
tled on  one.  Michel  Frolenko,  after  much 
trouble,  obtained  the  position  of  helper 
with  the  warden  of  the  Kiev  prison,  where 
our  friends  were  incarcerated.  His  plan 
was  to  work  up  till  he  obtained  a  position 
which  would  enable  him  to  liberate  the 
prisoners. 

Meanwhile,  little  by  little,  the  plans  of 
Terrorism  gripped  even  the  most  peaceful 
of  our  circle.  I  was  opposed  to  it.  At 
our  meetings  each  new  outrage  only  made 
our  anger  burn  deeper.  Most  of  it  cen- 
tered on  Kotliarovsky,  the  head  of  an  in- 
vestigation among  the  peasants  to  find 


136     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  EUSSIA 

out  the  name  of  every  noble  who  had 
been  fomenting  trouble  among  them. 

Even  then,  I  doubt  if  Kotliarovsky 
would  have  been  attacked,  but  that  once, 
when  a  young  girl  revolutionist  was  ar- 
rested, he  ordered  that  she  should  be 
searched  by  his  men.  I  have  said  that 
we  were  like  knights  of  the  olden  time 
and  held  respect  to  a  woman  as  a  foun- 
dation stone  in  our  ideals.  It  was  when 
the  ignorant  officials  abused  their  power 
and  hurled  insults  at  the  heroic  girl 
students  who  had  suffered  with  us  in  the 
cause  that  they  signed  their  own  death 
warrants. 

On  the  night  of  February  28,  1878,  I 
was  awakened  by  a  tapping  on  my  win- 
dow, which  looked  out  onto  the  street. 

"  Who  is  it?  "  I  asked. 

"  Valerian/'  said  the  voice  outside, 
softly.  I  let  him  and  two  of  his  comrades 
in.  Ossinsky  came  in  softly,  and  look- 
ing at  me  through  his  gold-rimmed  glasses, 
said  in  a  quiet  whisper : 


A  TEEEOEIST  THUNDERBOLT     137 

"  Kotliarovsky  is  killed  !  " 

I  shivered. 

"  When? "  I  asked,  dully. 

"Just  now  .  «  .  we've  come  from 
there." 

In  a  few  words  he  told  that  he  had 
shot  the  hated  official  in  the  street  and 
that  he  had  fallen  instantly. 

"  You're  sleeping  here?  "  I  asked. 

"Yes — probably  the  streets  are  alive 
with  police  now." 

"  Then  go  to  bed — we  must  put  out  the 
light  right  away,"  I  said. 

We  spread  blankets  and  lay  down. 

Kotliarovsky  was  a  brute,  but — no,  I 
could  not  make  myself  believe  in  Terror- 
ism. I  could  not  sleep. 

Suddenly,  in  the  distance,  I  heard  the 
regular  beat  of  a  drum. 

"  Rousing  help,"  I  thought  to  myself. 

"  Valerian,  do  you  hear  ?  "  I  asked. 

11 1  hear." 

"  Beating  a  drum,"  I  said. 

II  Yes," 


138      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  EUSSIA 

The  other  two  men  went  to  sleep,  but  I 
heard  Ossinsky  tossing  restlessly  hour 
after  hour. 

The  next  day  we  found  out  that  Kotliar- 
ovsky  had  not  even  been  wounded  j  the 
shot  had  missed  him  and  he  had  fallen 
from  sheer  fright.  The  attempt  roused 
the  town.  In  the  name  of  the  famous 
Executive  Committee  we  began  printing 
proclamations  of  a  revolutionary  charac- 
ter, which  we  used  to  post  all  over  Kiev 
during  the  night.  One  of  us  was  sent  to 
fifteen  years'  hard  labor  when  caught 
sticking  up  one  of  these  posters. 

By  this  time  Frolenko  had  gained  the 
confidence  of  the  warden,  and  we  knew 
that  at  the  first  vacancy,  among  the  keep- 
ers who  held  the  keys,  Frolenko  would 
obtain  the  position.  Then  he  could 
simply  open  the  cell  doors  of  our  com- 
rades. 

Our  next  step  was  to  get  rid  of  a 
keeper.  We  chose  a  drunkard,  named 
Ponomarenko.  I  dressed  up  as  a  rich 


A  TERRORIST  THUNDERBOLT     139 

brandy  distiller  and  went  to  one  of  the 
good  hotels.  I  sent  him  a  message  to 
come  and  see  me,  and  told  him  he  had 
been  recommended  to  me  by  a  man  for 
whom  he  had  formerly  worked.  I  of- 
fered him  work  at  my  distillery,  and  he 
could  not  resist  the  temptation.  He  told 
me  that  he  would  resign  from  the  prison, 
and  let  me  have  his  passport  right  away. 
Since  he  could  not  get  his  passport  from 
the  warden  without  resigning,  when  he 
brought  it  to  me  next  day,  I  knew  the 
way  was  clear  for  Frolenko.  I  gave 
Ponomarenko  some  money,  and  told  him 
that  I  had  a  short  trip  to  make,  and  that 
he  should  wait  to  hear  from  me. 

Our  calculations  worked  out  perfectly. 
As  soon  as  he  left,  Frolenko  obtained  the 
position  of  keeper,  and  we  began  plan- 
ning the  flight.  We  decided  that  the  best 
way  was  for  the  prisoners  to  escape  in 
a  boat  down  the  River  Dnieper,  on  which 
Kiev  stands.  Then,  at  a  sufficient  dis- 
tance from  Kiev,  they  could  take  the  train 


140     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

and  escape.  Some  of  us  were  entrusted 
with  the  buying  of  provisions,  for  the 
refugees  could  not  leave  the  boat  and  be 
seen  anywhere,  so  they  had  to  have  a  suf- 
ficiency of  food  ;  others  had  to  buy  a  cart 
and  horse  to  take  the  men  from  the  prison 
to  the  river,  and  then  we  had  to  provide 
them  with  clothing. 

At  last  all  was  ready.  That  night 
somebody  knocked  at  my  window.  It 
was  Frolenko. 

"  Well  ?  What's  happened  ?  "  I  show- 
ered him  with  questions. 

"They've  escaped,"  he  said,  walking 
calmly  into  my  room. 

"How?" 

"  Just  as  we  had  planned.  I  got  the 
keepers  drunk,  so  they  dozed  off.  I 
opened  the  cell  and  took  them  out.  At 
the  gate  the  watchman  challenged  us.  I 
told  him  that  we  were  going  off  duty, 
and  he  let  us  through.  That's  all." 

I  watched  Frolenko  as  he  told  me  this 
simple  story,  and  there  was  no  trace  of 


A  TEEEOEIST  THUNDERBOLT     141 

excitement  on  his  face,  except  that  his 
eyes  burned  a  little. 

"  I  took  them  to  the  river,"  he  con- 
tinued in  answer  to  my  questions,  "  and 
you  got  an  awful  horse.  My  arms  are 
still  sore  from  hammering  the  beast — it 
wouldn't  run.  Well,  I  suppose  you'd 
better  give  me  the  scissors — I'll  cut  my 
beard." 

And  Michel  gave  up  the  rest  of  the 
night  to  changing  his  appearance. 

Not  in  Kiev  alone,  but  in  Petrograd,  in 
Odessa,  in  all  the  larger  towns  of  Russia, 
Terrorism  spread.  Scarcely  a  day  passed 
without  news  of  some  outbreak  planned, 
or  carried  out.  A  gendarme  officer  named 
Heiking,  who  had  been  especially  active 
in  attacking  us,  was  shot  and  killed  by 
Ossinsky  and  his  friends.  We  printed  a 
proclamation  stating  that  the  killing  of 
Heiking  and  the  escape  of  Stefanovitch, 
Deutsch  and  Bokhanovsky  were  the  work 
of  the  "  Executive  Committee." 

Kiev  was  in  an  uproar.     It  was  felt  that 


142     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

no  official's  life  was  safe.  The  gendarmes 
were  stirred  to  savage  action.  Every  sus- 
picious apartment  was  ransacked. 

Above  me  lived  two  girl  students.  The 
police  broke  into  their  rooms  and  searched. 
I  heard — but  there  was  nothing  I  could 
do.  Frolenko  and  the  slayers  of  Heiking 
were  living  with  me,  hidden,  for  I  had 
secured  a  false  passport  and  was  safe  for 
the  time  being.  Besides,  in  a  cupboard 
in  my  rooms  was  a  small  printing-press. 

Every  day  were  arrests  and  more  ar- 
rests. Some  were  our  comrades,  many 
were  innocent.  Several  were  hanged. 
But  the  man  who  ordered  the  first  hang- 
ing was  killed  two  days  later.  In  every 
town  this  happened.  The  Executive 
Committee  added  new  officials  to  its 
death  list,  and  paid  the  fatal  price. 
Slowly  the  net  around  us  tightened. 
Our  days  were  numbered.  The  spies 
added  link  to  link  of  the  chain ;  they 
gained  admission  even  to  the  inner  circle, 
but  we  could  not  trace  them. 


A  TEEEOEIST  THUNDERBOLT     143 

The  first  blow  was  the  arrest  of  Ossinsky 
on  January  24, 1879.  Then  came  the  fate- 
ful day  of  February  eleventh.  It  was  a 
Russian  holiday,  so  we  all  gathered  in 
two  houses  to  pass  the  evening.  In  the 
first  house  where  I  lived,  there  was  a 
great  number  of  revolutionists,  Brantner 
amongst  many  others.  I  had  gone  to 
our  other  gathering  place  with  the  rest 
of  the  revolutionists,  among  whom  was 
Sviridenko. 

All  were  sitting  quietly  in  my  rooms, 
when  a  knock  came  and  a  gendarme  en- 
tered. 

"  Is  Gospodin  (Mr.)  De  Bogory  Mokrie- 
vitch  here  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No — there  is  no  De  Bogory  Mokrie- 
vitch  here/'  answered  one  of  the  men. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  " 

One  of  the  comrades  pulled  out  a  re- 
volver. 

"  Where  is  he  ? "  repeated  the  gen- 
darme, backing  toward  the  door,  also 
drawing  his  revolver  and  hammering 


144     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  HUSSIA 

with  his  heel  on  the  door.  A  dozen 
gendarmes  rushed  in,  and  at  the  same 
moment  Brantner  and  another  of  the 
revolutionists  advanced  with  revolvers 
drawn.  It  has  never  been  known  who 
fired  first. 

There  was  a  fusillade  of  shots.  The 
gendarmes  wore  armor,  but  one  was 
killed  instantly  by  a  bullet  through 
his  head.  The  two  foremost  of  my 
comrades  were  mortally  wounded,  but 
one  of  them,  lying  on  the  floor,  shouted, 
amid  his  agony  : 

"  Attack  them  with  knives,  brothers  I  " 

Brantner,  though  wounded,  went  on 
shooting.  The  women  revolutionists 
hastily  threw  compromising  documents 
in  the  fire  while  the  battle  was  going 
on,  while  others,  in  the  teeth  of  the 
pistol  fire,  gave  first  aid  to  their  dying 
friends.  The  defense  was  too  desperate 
and  the  gendarmes  finally  gave  way. 

But  escape  was  beyond  hope.  There 
was  a  double  ring  of  gendarmes  around 


A  TERRORIST  THUNDERBOLT     145 

the  house.  One  of  my  wounded  com- 
rades reached  the  gate,  where  he  col- 
lapsed, and  Brantner  fainted  from  his 
wound  when  trying  to  climb  the  wall 
of  the  yard.  More  gendarmes  came,  so 
many  that  defense  was  impossible.  Still, 
so  terrible  was  that  handful  of  men  and 
women  in  that  little  room  that  even  the 
soldiers  were  afraid  to  approach,  and  it 
was  only  when  the  revolutionists  agreed 
not  to  fire  that  they  were  put  under  ar- 
rest. 

Brantner  and  the  comrade  near  the 
gate  were  found  and  sent  to  the  hos- 
pital with  the  two  dying  revolutionists. 
The  others  were  taken  to  the  station 
house. 

Meanwhile  we  knew  nothing  about  all 
this  until  the  door  opened,  and  we  found 
a  solid  line  of  soldiers  behind  with  fixed 
bayonets.  Fortunately,  Sviridenko  and 
another  man  had  left  a  few  moments 
before. 

"  Surrender,"  said  a  voice. 


146      WEEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

"  We're  not  a  fortress,"  I  answered  with 
a  smile. 

"  But  your  comrades "  began  the 

officer. 

I  could  not  hear  the  rest  of  the  sen- 
tence, for  the  soldiers  burst  in,  and 
drowned  his  words. 

He  searched  us  all  for  arms,  but  we 
had  none,  so  we  were  taken  to  the  police 
station,  where  we  came  upon  our  com- 
rades. From  them  I  learned  of  the  des- 
perate affray. 

Sviridenko,  who  had  been  caught  on 
the  street,  suddenly  rushed  in,  with  two 
policemen  helplessly  dragging  on  behind. 

"  They're  bound,"  he  shouted,  looking 
at  us  all,  and  began  untying  the  ropes  that 
bound  us. 

"  Please  calm  yourself/'  repeated  the 
police  commissioner,  unable  to  overcome 
his  obedience  to  a  noble ;  "  we'll  untie 
them." 

"  I  want  water,"  shouted  Sviridenko. 

"  Water — do    you    hear  ? — quick,    get 


A  TEEROEIST  THUNDERBOLT     147 

some  !  "  ordered  the  commissioner,  only 
too  eager  to  be  obliging  as  long  as  his 
orders  were  fulfilled. 

It  was  many  years  ago,  but  I  can  still 
see  Sviridenko,  with  his  pale  face  wreathed 
in  a  mass  of  black,  thick  curly  hair,  bully- 
ing the  commissioner,  who  had  us  in  his 
power. 

We  were  all  taken  to  the  Kiev  jail. 
Soon  our  two  wounded  comrades  died  in 
the  hospital  and  Brantner  joined  us. 

The  charges  against  us  were  very  seri- 
ous. Whereas  some  of  us  were  held  for 
armed  resistance  and  the  killing  of  an 
officer,  others,  such  as  myself,  were  con- 
nected with  many  revolutionary  under- 
takings and  had  lived  as  "  illegals."  Spies 
came  to  the  prison  from  everywhere  to 
identify  us,  and  even  Ponomarenko  was 
brought  to  identify  me  as  the  wine  dis- 
tiller. I  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes, 
and  I  saw  that  he  did  not  recognize  me, 
so  perfect  had  been  my  disguise. 

"We    know   all    about   it/'  said  the 


148      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

gendarme,  trying  to  break  down  my 
guard. 

A  woman  who  had  been  in  the  hotel 
was  asked  to  identify  me.  She  looked  at 
me.  I  saw  that  she  knew,  but  she  only 
said  softly : 

"  I  can't  tell." 

On  April  third  we  were  taken  to  trial, 
and  forbidden  the  lawyers  we  wished. 
We  were  all  sentenced  to  fourteen  years 
and  ten  months  hard  labor,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Brantner  and  Sviridenko,  who 
were  condemned  to  death  for  armed  re- 
sistance. 

When  the  sentence  was  passed,  one  of 
the  women  prisoners  became  hysterical. 
The  police  rushed  for  water,  and  we  all 
rose  from  the  benches  on  which  we  were 
sitting.  There  was  a  general  tumult. 
The  spectators  also  stood  up,  and  some 
even  climbed  on  their  chairs  to  see  better. 

"What  are  you  looking  at?"  shouted 
Sviridenko.  "  This  is  no  theatre.  It  is  a 
disgrace  to  you  making  a  show  of  death  ! " 


A  TEEEOEIST  THUNDERBOLT     149 

There  was  a  hushed  silence.  All  sat 
down  quickly,  and  ashamedly  began 
leaving  the  court  as  rapidly  as  possible. 

Ossinsky  was  tried  later — and  sentenced 
to  death.  There  was  no  hope.  Our  three 
comrades  were  doomed.  Sviridenko  gave 
a  false  name  as  he  did  not  want  his  old 
mother  to  know  of  his  death.  He 
spoke  about  her  to  me  many  times,  as 
we  sat  on  our  cell  windows.  He  died 
under  that  false  name,  to  save  her  a 
heart-wrench. 

I  could  not  think  of  my  comrades' 
deaths,  it  seemed  too  terrible  to  be  true. 
The  last  night  came.  I  climbed  on  the 
window  sill  and  sat  there,  pressed  against 
the  iron  bars,  not  daring  to  think  of  the 
morrow.  It  was  a  warm  night,  and  very 
still.  Everybody  was  quiet ;  I  think  prob- 
ably all  were  seated  as  I  was.  The  only 
sound  was  the  voice  of  Ossinsky,  as  he 
spoke  to  his  betrothed,  Sophia  Leshern, 
who  was  in  the  woman's  prison  across 
the  empty  courtyard. 


150      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  EUSSIA 

"  Four,  five,  seven,  two,  eight,  zero !  " 
he  said  rapidly,  in  the  cipher  we  used. 

She  answered. 

Ossinsky  could  not  keep  still.  He 
asked  me  to  sing  him  Beranger's  "  Death 
of  a  Corporal. "  It  is  a  song — you  may 
know  it — of  a  death  by  shooting. 

Ossinsky  hoped  but  for  one  thing,  that 
he  would  be  shot  on  the  morrow;  he 
could  not  bring  himself  to  think  of  the 
scaffold.  I  sang  it,  though  my  throat  was 
wrung  with  choked-down  tears.  Twice 
afterward  during  that  night  I  sang  it  to 
him  again. 

It  was  getting  very  late. 

"  Sonia  !  "  came  Ossinsky's  voice. 

"  Valerian  !  "  she  answered. 

No  more  was  said. 

Next  morning    .    .    . 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MY   ESCAPE   FROM   SIBERIA 

SOON  after  the  death  of  our  comrades, 
we  had  to  prepare  for  our  long  journey 
to  Siberia,  and  not  only  to  Siberia,  but  to 
the  mines.  That  meant  incredible  hard- 
ship and  insufferable  cruelty  for  fourteen 
years, — for  fourteen  long,  weary  years.  It 
meant  that  most  of  us  would  die  lonely 
and  neglected  in  a  filthy  prison  cell. 
And  so  many  were  so  young,  so  young  I 
Fourteen  years'  hard  labor  in  the  Sibe- 
rian mines,  and  for  what?  For  trying 
to  bring  greater  freedom  to  our  beloved 
country.  But  that  old  hard,  unseeing 
Russia  is  going;  Russia  to-day,  alert, 
making  vast  strides  to  help  her  people, 
building  public  schools  by  scores,  with 
huge  government  departments  organized 
to  aid  the  peasants  and  bring  them  to 
151 


152     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  EUSSIA 

greater  values  of  life,  is  doing  the  work 
that  we  began.  Ossinsky  did  not  die  in 
vain,  and  our  dream  is  coming  true. 

Before  leaving  for  Siberia,  Ivan  came 
to  see  me  and  he  slipped  me  a  one- 
hundred-rouble  note.  The  keeper  had 
noticed  it,  so  when  Ivan  had  gone  he  in- 
sisted on  searching  me.  He  looked  every- 
where, even  in  my  hair  and  my  mouth. 
But  he  could  find  nothing,  so  finally, 
very  much  puzzled,  he  let  me  return  to 
my  cell.  He  never  thought  of  looking 
in  the  palm  of  my  hand,  where  I  had 
been  holding  the  money  quietly  all  the 
while. 

We  knew  that  we  were  going  to  Siberia, 
although  we  did  not  know  where  we 
were  going  to  be  sent.  Of  all  the  revolu- 
tionaries with  me,  only  two  were  not 
nobles.  These  two  were  put  in  irons  and 
their  hair  was  cut,  but  our  rank  saved  us 
from  some  of  the  miseries  of  the  journey. 
We  traveled  by  train  through  Russia  to 
Nijni-Novgorod,  where  we  were  taken  on 


MY  ESCAPE  FEOM  SIBERIA        153 

barges  on  the  rivers  Volga  and  Kama  to 
the  town  of  Perm.  In  addition  to  our 
party  of  political  exiles  there  were  also  a 
number  of  criminals,  who  were  being 
sent  to  Siberia.  From  there  we  went  by 
train  to  Ekaterinburg,  and  wherever  we 
went,  I  only  thought  and  dreamed  of  my 
escape.  I  had  spent  six  years  dodging 
capture,  and  I  was  not  going  to  take  my 
sentence  lightly,  without  making  one 
last  supreme  effort  to  get  away. 

From  Ekaterinburg  we  traveled  in 
vozoks,  or  small  three-horse  carts,  with 
one  prisoner  in  each.  Beside  each  polit- 
ical exile  sat  a  gendarme,  armed  with  a 
revolver  and  sword,  and  beside  the  driver 
sat  a  soldier  armed  with  a  rifle.  We 
drove  rapidly  along  the  flat  country,  and 
I  thought  with  dread  of  the  terrible 
Siberian  winters.  Our  vozoks  with  the 
little  bells  tinkling  on  the  harness  moved 
rapidly,  one  behind  the  other,  along  the 
famous  Siberian  Tract,  which  all  the 
exiles  used  to  pass.  Several  times  I 


154     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  EUSSIA 

thought  of  escape,  but  we  traveled  with- 
out stopping,  sleeping  in  the  vozok  dur- 
ing the  nights.  I  could  see  no  chance 
of  escape,  for  I  was  dressed  in  coarse  grey 
prison  clothing,  clumsily  sewn,  and  this 
would  have  instantly  caused  capture. 
After  several  days  of  this  travel  we 
were  again  taken  still  further  east  by 
barge  till  we  reached  Surgut.  At 
Tomsk  we  were  taken  to  the  big  prison, 
on  the  walls  of  which  we  found  the 
names  of  the  women  revolutionists  of  our 
group,  who  had  been  sentenced  with  us. 
This  was  the  first  news  we  had  of  them, 
and  now  we  knew  that  they  were  travel- 
ing ahead  of  us.  We  were  hurried  on 
by  vozok  until  we  reached  Krasnoyarsk, 
the  boundary  town  of  Eastern  Siberia. 
We  had  left  Russia  and  Western  Siberia 
behind  us. 

All  during  the  journey  we  found  the 
authorities  anxious  to  please  the  political 
exiles  and  avoid  trouble.  As  nobles 
we  obtained  many  privileges,  and  were 


MY  ESCAPE  FROM  SIBERIA        155 

given  fur  coats  when  we  asked  for  them 
on  the  plea  that  we  were  cold  at  night. 
We  remained  in  Krasnoyarsk  for  some 
weeks,  awaiting  further  orders. 

It  was  the  end  of  August  when  six  of 
the  political  exiles,  among  whom  I  was 
one,  were  ordered  to  proceed  to  Irkutsk 
by  the  so-called  "  etape."  In  front  came 
several  files  of  soldiers.  Then  walked 
the  criminals,  of  whom  there  were  about 
one  hundred  and  eighty  in  irons.  They 
were  being  sent  to  exile,  which  meant 
that  they  had  to  go  to  certain  villages,  and 
there  remain  free,  so  long  as  they  did  not 
try  to  leave  the  place.  Behind  them  came 
about  fifteen  wagons,  in  which  were  the 
wives  and  children  of  the  exiles.  Next 
followed  a  few  wagons  in  which  nobles, 
who  had  been  convicted  as  criminals,  were 
riding,  for  no  noble  was  required  to  walk, 
and  we  political  exiles  came  last.  A  file 
of  soldiers  walked  on  either  side  of  this 
procession,  and  there  was  a  detachment 
behind. 


156     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

Many  of  the  criminals  took  off  their 
irons  as  soon  as  we  left  the  town,  and  the 
officers  made  no  objection.  Their  orders 
were  strict,  but  there  were  many  mutual 
concessions  made  on  the  part  of  the 
officers  and  prisoners.  That  evening  we 
came  to  the  polu-etape,  or  half  etape, 
where  there  was  a  jail.  We,  as  nobles, 
were  kept  apart  from  the  peasant  pris- 
oners, so  that  we  slept  under  better  and 
cleaner  conditions  than  the  others.  At 
the  end  of  the  next  day  we  reached  the 
etape,  which  differed  from  the  polu-etape 
only  by  being  a  little  larger. 

Studying  carefully  the  make-up  of  the 
party  and  the  strong  organization  among 
the  criminal  prisoners,  which  amounted 
to  a  union,  whose  orders  none  dared  dis- 
obey, I  first  conceived  my  plan  of  escape. 
The  problem  was  not  that  of  escape  alone, 
for  that  was  comparatively  easy.  There 
was  not  much  difficulty  in  breaking 
away  and  hiding  in  the  primitive  forests 
through  which  we  were  traveling;  the 


POLU-ETAPE. 


KRASNOIARSK  PRISON. 


MY  ESCAPE  FROM  SIBERIA        157 

proolem  was  to  live  afterwards  when  the 
dreaded  "  battue "  had  been  organized, 
the  battue  of  Siberia,  most  thorough  and 
discouraging  of  all  systems.  Still  we 
were  all  set  on  an  attempt,  and  it  was 
agreed  that  one  of  us  would  escape  first 
and  organize  the  rescue  of  the  others. 
Vladislav  Isbitzky  was  chosen  for  this 
part. 

Since  the  criminals  were  going  into  ex- 
ile, and  were  sent  to  special  villages, 
where  they  would  be  freed,  our  plan  was 
to  exchange  places  with  them  and  under 
their  guise  leave  the  party  at  the  village 
in  which  the  peasant  was  supposed  to  set- 
tle. The  honor  of  the  prisoners,  due  to 
their  organization,  prevented  them  from 
revealing  the  deception.  Once  in  the  vil- 
lage it  would  be  easy  to  escape.  Mean- 
while the  criminal  wrould  continue  as  a 
political  prisoner.  When  the  deception 
was  discovered,  it  would  not  entail  much 
punishment  for  him,  and  this  was  more 
than  compensated  by  the  reward  (we  gave 


158     WEEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  EUSSIA 

them  money  and  clothing)  which  would 
make  his  life  much  easier  in  the  new 
country.  Besides  this,  for  a  peasant  to 
aid  in  freeing  one  of  the  revolutionist  no- 
bles, who  was  giving  his  life  for  the  cause, 
was  a  great  honor. 

After  the  escape,  it  was  planned  that 
Isbitzky  should  travel  ahead  of  us  rapidly 
enough  to  reach  the  polu-etape  and  there 
make  a  secret  tunnel  to  the  prison,  through 
which  we  could  all  escape.  We  agreed 
that  he  should  leave  chalk  marks  along 
the  telegraph  poles,  so  that  we  might 
know  he  was  safely  ahead  of  us. 

The  day  of  the  exchange,  as  we  left  the 
etape,  sitting  on  our  slow  moving  wagons, 
we  saw  Isbitzky  standing  before  an  izba 
in  a  bright  red  shirt,  smiling.  That  was 
the  last  time  I  saw  him.  For  many  days 
we  noted  the  marks  on  the  poles,  and  then 
they  disappeared.  After  that  we  looked 
in  vain.  Later,  we  learned  that  he  had 
to  return  to  Tomsk  for  lack  of  money, 
which  he  procured,  and  then  started  after 


MY  ESCAPE  FROM  SIBERIA        159 

us.  But  delays  occurred,  and  he  did  not 
reach  the  party  until  it  had  arrived  at  its 
destination,  which  was  the  silver  mines 
of  Kara.  His  fate  is  unknown,  for  he 
disappeared ;  possibly  he  was  killed  by 
robbers  on  the  road. 

Since  the  chalk  marks  had  vanished, 
we  made  other  plans  for  the  escape.  I 
found  Pavlov,  a  criminal,  willing  to  ex- 
change with  me.  This  was  done  with  very 
little  trouble,  and  after  that,  I  walked  with 
the  criminals,  sometimes  with  irons  on 
my  feet.  I  suffered  horribly,  and  almost 
starved  on  the  coarse  and  scanty  food. 

As  we  advanced,  bread  became  scarce 
and  dear.  Hunger  marched  in  the  grim 
procession.  The  yellow  parchment  skin 
of  starvation  showed  on  every  face.  We 
walked  with  difficulty.  The  criminals 
asked  permission  from  the  officers  to  sing 
milostinia,  the  begging  song,  upon  en- 
tering the  villages.  This  was  granted. 
So,  when  we  came  to  villages,  the  basses 
started  the  slow,  melancholy  chant  to  the 


160     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  EUSSIA 

accompaniment  of  the  clang  of  the  irons 
and  the  squeaking  of  the  wagon  wheels. 
Several  of  the  prisoners  went  from  izba 
to  izba  with  bags,  begging  for  food.  In 
nightmares  I  see  that  march  again  and 
hear  the  slow  drone  of  the  starving  men, 
eager  for  a  crust. 

To  famine  was  added  typhoid,  and  as 
the  etape  hospitals  were  scores  of  versts 
apart,  many  of  the  men  were  placed  on  the 
wagons  when  they  became  too  ill  to  travel. 
One  man  died  on  the  way,  and  we  traveled 
with  his  body  for  many  miles  till  we  came 
to  the  etape. 

At  last  we  reached  the  village  at  which 
I  was  to  be  set  free,  with  several  other 
men.  I  was  examined,  and,  according  to 
the  part  of  the  criminal  with  whom  I  had 
exchanged,  I  gave  my  name  as  Petrov  and 
my  crime  that  of  being  a  thief.  So,  with 
the  prison  clothing,  which  became  mine, 
I  was  allowed  to  walk  out  with  my  fel- 
low-criminals as  a  free  man,  free,  but  three 
thousand  miles  from  home,  free  only  to 


MY  ESCAPE  FROM  SIBERIA        161 

try  to  rescue  my  comrades.  Still,  I  was 
at  liberty. 

Free  !  I  could  hardly  believe  it  as  I 
walked  down  the  street  of  the  village. 
The  other  prisoners  all  went  to  an  inn 
and  I  went  with  them,  but  I  did  not  in- 
tend to  remain  any  length  of  time  in 
that  village,  for  I  feared  that  either 
somebody  might  report  the  exchange 
or  tell  of  it  at  the  first  questioning. 
I  had  no  money,  and  only  the  address 
of  a  friend  exiled  to  a  village  that  was 
150  versts  (100  miles)  from  my  present 
whereabouts.  I  could  do  no  better  than 
go  there.  I  sold  some  of  the  clothing  I 
had  for  a  rouble  and  a  half  (seventy-five 
cents),  and  after  a  night's  rest  in  the  inn, 
started  out  early  the  next  day. 

I  had  a  prison  fur  coat  and  cap  to 
match,  trousers  of  grey  cotton,  prison 
boots  with  leather  gaiters.  I  had  an 
extra  shirt  and  cotton  trousers.  That 
was  my  entire  baggage,  and  Siberian 
winter  was  fast  approaching,  for  it  was 


162     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

the  second  day  of  November.  My  head 
was  cropped,  but  since  prisoners  trav- 
eled, when  there  was  no  battue,  openly 
in  Siberia,  I  was  not  afraid  of  the  fact 
that  all  could  see  I  had  been  a  convict. 

I  knew  the  direction  I  had  to  walk  in, 
and  nothing  more,  so  I  started.  But  as  I 
walked  through  the  dense  forests  I  did 
not  have  the  feeling  of  freedom,  for  I 
realized  that  I  was  just  as  far  from  free- 
dom as  before,  for  now  I  was  at  the 
mercy  of  the  Siberian  elements.  I  spent 
my  nights  in  the  village  baths,  and  often, 
since  the  peasants  were  all  kindly  dis- 
posed to  the  convicts  and  helped  them, 
I  had  a  warm  bed.  I  used  to  buy  a  crust 
of  bread  for  a  few  kopecks,  and  the  peas- 
ants, knowing  that  I  was  an  escaped  con- 
vict, sometimes  gave  it  to  me.  Often  the 
peasants,  themselves  exiles,  treated  me  to 
a  glass  of  tea. 

After  a  weary  journey  I  finally  reached 
the  village  in  which  my  friend  was  sup- 
posed to  be.  I  knew  which  izba  he  oc- 


MY  ESCAPE  FROM  SIBERIA        163 

copied,  so  I  counted  off  the  izbas,  and  en- 
tered the  one  I  had  been  told  he  lived  in. 
An  old  woman  met  me. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I'm  looking  for  some  exiles/7  I  said. 
"  Nobles." 

"  There  are  lots  of  nobles,  exiles/7  she 
answered  looking  at  me  suspiciously. 

Suddenly  an  inner  door  opened,  and  a 
young  woman  came  out.  I  knew  imme- 
diately that  she  was  a  "  political  "  exile, 
by  her  appearance  first,  and  then  by  her 
speech. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  she  asked,  look- 
ing at  me. 

"  I  have  a  little  business/7  I  said,  com- 
ing up  to  her,  and  gently  pushing  her 
back  into  the  room,  so  as  to  speak  to 
her  not  in  the  hearing  of  the  old  woman. 
She  spread  her  arms  across  the  door  jamb, 
but  finally  fell  back. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  77  she  repeated. 

I  was  already  in  the  room  and  I  closed 
the  door  behind  me. 


164      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

"  I'm  De  Bogory  Mokrievitch,"  I  said 
in  a  whisper,  "just  escaped  from  the 
party  on  the  way." 

"  You— De  Bogory  Mokrievitch  1  Oh !  " 
she  said. 

"  Have  you  heard  about  our  trial  ?  " 

She  clasped  her  hands  about  my 
arm. 

"  Tell  me  all,  all !  "  she  said. 

I  cannot  describe  the  excitement  that 
spread  in  this  little  house,  and  a  neigh- 
boring one,  in  which  another  political 
exile  lived.  My  friend  was  not  in  the 
village,  but  by  mere  chance  I  had  met 
some  other  of  the  exiles. 

I  was  freezing,  and  as  a  samovar  stood 
on  the  table,  I  had  just  sat  down  to  drink 
a  glass  of  tea,  when  I  was  told  that  the 
gendarmes  had  come  to  the  village.  I 
had  to  escape.  My  new  friends  told  me 
how  to  leave  the  village,  and  where  to 
go,  and  added  that  a  man,  whose  descrip- 
tion they  gave  me,  would  catch  up  to  me 
on  a  sleigh  and  would  take  me  to  safety. 


MY  ESCAPE  FROM  SIBERIA        165 

I  had  not  a  kopeck  left,  so  they  gave  me 
a  rouble  from  their  own  scanty  stores. 
Thus,  without  a  chance  to  change  cloth- 
ing or  appearance,  and  knowing  that  I 
looked  like  a  veritable  tramp,  I  had  to 
go.  The  police  might  not  have  come  for 
me,  but  I  could  take  no  chances. 

The  sleigh  soon  caught  up  with  me, 
and  took  me  a  big  part  of  the  way  to 
the  village  in  which  the  man  lived.  He 
agreed  to  hide  me  on  condition  that  I 
come  to  him  at  night,  so  that  nobody 
should  see  me  come  in.  He  told  me 
where  his  house  was,  and  left  me. 

Then  I  learned — and  for  a  moment  I 
turned  cold  at  the  peril — that  the  battue 
was  on.  It  is  a  good  word — that  battue, 
meaning  as  it  does  the  rousing  of  a  neigh- 
borhood to  drive  and  trap  some  wild  beast 
to  his  death.  The  battue  was  on  for  Is- 
bitzky  and  for  me,  and  also  for  a  political 
exile  from  a  party  traveling  behind  us, 
who,  however,  by  dallying  one  day  too 
long  in  the  village  of  his  exchange,  was 


166      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  BUSSIA 

later  caught  and  sent  on  to  the  silver 
mines  at  Kara.  I  have  told  you  that  Is- 
bitzky  disappeared.  I  was  the  wild  beast 
to  be  trapped.  My  description  was  sent 
to  every  village  over  the  two  thousand 
miles  of  desolation  between  where  I  was 
and  Russia.  An  order  was  issued  that 
every  stranger,  no  matter  if  his  passports 
were  in  perfect  order,  should  be  arrested 
and  searched.  To  give  me  food  or  shelter 
was  a  crime  punishable  with  sentence  to 
the  mines.  And  the  Siberian  winter  was 
at  hand.  There  was  but  one  thing  to  do, 
and  many  of  the  villagers  did  that  thing. 
They  would  put  food  on  the  window 
ledges  for  any  starved  passer-by.  And 
day  by  day  the  cold  fell  more  intense, 
the  wind  blew  keener,  and  the  snows  of 
Siberia  began. 

But  the  police  were  hot  upon  my  trail. 
The  escape  of  De  Bogory  Mokrievitch  was, 
they  thought,  dangerous  to  the  peace  of 
Russia.  Siberia  became  as  one  vast  eye 
looking  night  and  day,  and  looking  for 


KEROEZ  CHILDREN  AT  PLAY. 
"Western  Siberia. 


MY  ESCAPE  FROM  SIBERIA        167 

me.  An  exile,  who  had  given  me  a  night's 
shelter,  gave  me  the  address  of  a  Polish 
exile  three  villages  away.  Somehow,  by 
some  mad  power  that  must  have  been  the 
exhilaration  of  near-exhaustion,  I  reached 
the  village.  It  was  midnight  when  I 
knocked  at  his  door. 

The  door  opened. 

"  I'm  De  Bogory  Mokrievitch,"  I  said. 
"Will  you  hide  me?" 

He  stood  aside  to  let  me  enter. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied. 

To  this  man  I  owe  my  safety.  The 
'fact  that  I  spoke  Polish  was  my  salvation. 
Once,  when  I  was  in  this  exile's  store — 
he  was  keeping  the  village  shop,  he  who 
had  owned  a  couple  of  thousand  fam- 
ilies of  serfs  before  the  emancipation — 
the  police  asked  for  my  friend.  I  an- 
swered in  Polish  that  I  knew  very  little 
Russian  and  suspicion  was  averted  for 
the  time. 

The  story  of  that  hiding  is  told  in 
hours,  not  in  days.  A  dozen  times  I  was 


168     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

all  but  captured,  but  caution  never  slept, 
and  I  was  held  safe  among  those  Polish 
exiles.  Even  to-day  I  dare  not  mention 
names,  for  the  penalty  of  helping  a  polit- 
ical prisoner  to  escape  is  many  years  of 
hard  labor.  I  can  only  repay  that  kind- 
ness by  silence. 

For  one  month  and  a  half  the  battue 
was  in  full  operation.  Every  man  along 
the  roads  was  arrested,  every  man  who 
had  the  insignia  of  the  convict  was  stopped. 
Nobody  was  allowed  to  pass  by.  At  every 
village  special  guards  were  stationed  to 
question  strangers.  Not  a  fly  could  have 
crept  through.  I  realized  why  even  the 
most  hardened  convicts  regarded  the  bat- 
tue with  dread. 

As  soon  as  the  first  fervor  of  the  battue 
had  abated,  I  decided  to  go  to  Irkutsk. 
Here  I  organized  the  escape  of  five  of  my 
old  comrades  from  the  Irkutsk  jail  by 
means  of  a  tunnel.  I  drove  them  in  a 
sled  to  safety,  and  I  provided  them  with 
provisions,  so  as  to  avoid  their  having  to 


MY  ESCAPE  FROM  SIBERIA        169 

enter  any  villages.     Alas,  all  were  caught, 
although  much  later. 

Few  of  us  political  prisoners  had  the 
physique  to  withstand  the  terrible  Siberian 
winter,  for  we  were  of  the  nobility,  and 
unused  to  hardship.  The  escape  created 
great  excitement,  and  again  I  had  to  seek 
a  hiding-place  among  strangers,  and  again 
I  was  saved  by  the  kindness  of  people. 

I  would  not  leave  Siberia,  however, 
without  one  last  attempt  to  rescue  the  men 
and  women  of  my  own  group,  my  old 
comrades,  who  had  already  reached  the 
silver  mines  of  Kara,  to  which  I  had 
been  destined.  Well  disguised,  I  bought 
a  horse  and  cart  and  became  an  itin- 
erant merchant.  This  not  only  gave 
me  a  living,  which  I  had  to  earn,  since  I 
had  no  money,  but  it  also  covered  the  real 
reason  for  my  distant  journey. 

Months  later  I  reached  Kara,  and  set- 
tled there  as  a  merchant.  I  lived  in  a 
small  house,  close  to  the  jail,  for  half  a 
year,  making  my  plans  for  the  escape. 


170     WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

The  unexpected  happened.  A  party  of 
prisoners  arrived,  among  whom  was  a 
peasant  criminal  who  knew  me.  To 
curry  favor  he  reported  my  presence.  I 
escaped  by  the  rear  window,  as  the  police 
battered  in  my  door.  This  time  a  battue 
was  not  ordered,  as  the  authorities  did  not 
want  to  admit  that  they  had  allowed  so 
dangerous  a  character  as  De  Bogory  Mok- 
rievitch  to  live  there  five  months  unob- 
served by  them. 

I  had  to  admit  at  last  that  I  could  do 
no  more  to  help  my  comrades,  for  I  was 
too  well  known,  and  to  take  a  chance  on  an- 
other battue  was  unwise.  So,  with  heavy 
heart,  I  returned,  knowing  that  I  was 
leaving  Siberia  and  my  comrades  forever. 

I  traveled  for  many  months,  first  on  my 
own  horse,  which  I  finally  sold,  then  by 
troika,  hired  from  village  to  village.  I 
had  lived  one  year  in  Siberia  after  my  es- 
cape, and  now  I  was  on  my  way  back  to 
Russia. 
,  It  was  in  February,  1881,  that  I  arrived 


MY  ESCAPE  FROM  SIBERIA        171 

in  Moscow,  and  soon  after  that  date,  Alex- 
ander II  was  killed  by  the  Terrorists.  I 
had  intended  taking  up  revolutionary 
work  again,  but  I  found  that  during  my 
absence  ideas  had  changed,  and  that  I 
could  not  agree  with  the  Terrorist  plans 
for  the  liberation  of  Russia.  Ivan  was  in 
prison  and  died  there.  The  police  activ- 
ity became  so  great  that  I  feared  spies 
who  had  known  me  might  recognize  me, 
and  I  was  obliged  to  escape  again.  I  left 
Russia  then  and  went  to  Switzerland,  an 
exile  from  the  country  in  which  I  was 
born,  and  for  which  I  sacrificed  the  best 
years  of  my  life. 

In  Switzerland  I  married  a  Russian 
noblewoman,  who  had  left  her  home  in 
order  to  study  medicine.  She  had  been 
educated  in  the  most  exclusive  of  Russian 
schools,  called  the  Institutes,  where  the 
girls  were  trained  to  be  society  women 
and  ladies  of  the  Court.  But  she  aspired 
to  a  profession,  with  which  ambition  her 


172      WHEN  I  WAS  A  BOY  IN  RUSSIA 

parents  entirely  disagreed,  whereupon  she 
had  left  them  and  left  Russia.  We  have 
one  daughter. 

I  lived  in  America  and  England  for 
some  years,  then  went  to  Bulgaria,  where 
so  many  Russian  exiles  dwell.  It  seemed 
nearer  to  Russia  in  this  Slavic-speaking 
country.  My  university  training,  so  many 
years  set  aside,  served  me  in  good  stead, 
and  I  became  a  civil  engineer,  in  charge 
of  all  the  city  planning  and  engineering 
of  several  Bulgarian  towns.  My  memoirs 
were  also  written  and  first  published  in 
Paris,  but,  after  the  revolution  of  1905, 
republished  in  Petrograd. 

Luka-Barskaya  ceased  to  be  ours  even 
before  my  parents'  death,  and  I  never  saw 
the  old  home  again.  But  though  the  am- 
nesty of  1905  did  not  cover  me  and  give 
me  the  privilege  of  returning  to  Russia,  I 
live  in  banishment  well  enough  content 
that  Ivan  has  not  died  in  vain,  nor  am  I 
still  an  exile  fruitlessly.  It  is  beyond  be- 
lief how  Russia  has  advanced,  and  many 


MY  ESCAPE  FROM  SIBERIA        173 

of  my  early  dreams  have  been  realized. 
I  think  of  Ivan,  of  Donetzky,  of  Ossinsky, 
and  my  heart  is  very  sore  within  me.  I 
look  at  Russia  and  I  am  well  content. 


THE   END 


CHRISTMAS  IN  LEGEND  AND  STOUT 

A  Book  for  Boys  and  Girl* 

Compiled  by  ELVA  S.  SMITH 

Cataloguer  of  Children's  Books,  Carnegie  Library,  Pittsburgh, 

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American  Heroes  and  Heroines 

By  PAULINE   CARRINQTON    BOUVE"     Illustrated 

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The  Scarlet  Patch 

The  Story  of  a  Patriot  Boy  in  the  Mohawk  Valley 

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"HPHE  Scarlet  Patch"  was  the  badge  of  a  Tory  organization,  and  a 
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uncle,  with  whom  he  is  a  "bound  boy,"  is  secretly  connected  with  this 
treacherous  band.  Thrilling  scenes  follow  in  which  a  faithful  Indian 
figures  prominently,  and  there  is  a  vivid  presentation  of  the  school  and 
home  life  as  well  as  the  public  affairs  of  those  times. 

**  A  book  that  will  be  most  valuable  to  the  library  of  the  young  boy,"—  Provi- 
dence News. 

Stories  of  Brave  Old  Times 

Some  Pen  Pictures  of  Scenes  Which 

Took  Place  Previous  to,  or  Connected 

With,  the  American  Revolution 

By  HELEN  M.  CLEVELAND    Profusely  illustra- 
I    ted    Large  I2mo    Cloth  $1.25 

ris   a  book  for  every  library,   a  book   for 
adults,  and  a  book  for  the  young.     Per- 
haps no  other  book  yet  written  sets  the  great 
^cost  of  freedom  so  clearly  before  the  young, 
fconsequently  is  such  a  spur  to  patriotism. 

"  It  can  unqualifiedly  be  commended  as  a  book  for 
youthful  readers;  its  great  wealth  of  illustrations 
adding  to  its  value.*' —  Chicago  News. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price 
by  the  publishers, 

LOTHROP,  LEE  &  SHEPARD  CO.,  BOSTON 


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